The Fourth Option
by commandocucumber
Summary: Post ME3. Shep/Miri & a little rebuilding.
1. The Fourth Option

**I'm fucking fixing it. Right NOW! That's ENOUGH! Beware, this is a Shep/Miri fic. I'm sorry, but it's my favorite pairing, and I'm writing what I RP'd. Hopefully this will still mean something to all of those who were as disappointed as I am. I'm basing this opening chapter on a suggestion post I read on the Bioware forums. If anyone finds the story outline, give me the name so I can properly credit the guy.**

* * *

The Fourth Option

"What path do you choose?" the glowing effigy asked patiently.

John stared at the three paths. His three options. Blue, Green, or red. Control, synthesis, or destroy? The last choice he would ever have to make. He thought of Miranda, and glanced at the hectic battle. She was in there, somewhere, fighting for her life. For the future. Just like everyone else. Garrus and Ash had already died for it, during the long run to the beam. How could they have survived? Harbinger's fire had hit its marks. Kaiden had died for the future on Virmire. Anderson had died for it not five minutes ago.

John envied Mordin. The Salarian had a hero's death, sacrificing himself to give the Krogan back their children. And Thane had died at the hands of Kai Leng…Of Cerberus… of the vicious fucking cycle! Too many people had lost their lives! Too much had been sacrificed! John himself had sacrificed too much.

_Miranda…_ He hadn't fought so long and hard not to see her again. He felt his heart wrench as he recalled their last conversation. A short jumbled exchange over London's entanglement communicator. How long had it been? Two hours? Three?

_I'll find you!_ John had promised, trying to be light-hearted. The brunette had fixed him with a look of grief and sadness; _She hadn't expected him to survive…_

"Make your choice." The Catalyst urged.

Something in him rebelled. It was all owed to the glimmering figure poised in front of him. He said, "I refuse."

The child stared.

John stared back, his breath labored. He felt the warm blood seeping from his wounds. He had five hours, with the implanted trauma module. Maybe six. Far longer than it would take for the battle to run its course.

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me." John lowered himself gingerly onto the cold platform. He sat down cross-legged and stared defiantly at the nonplussed figure.

"There will be chaos!" the child warned. "Synth-"

"Look out there!" Shepard ordered, pointing furiously at the battle, "Quarian and Geth working side by side. Synthetics and Organics working together! Fighting side by side against the only true threat there is: Extinction!" he shook his head, "Synthetic…organic… chaos…control…the only thing that matters is _life_, and your solution is taking that away from them!" for a moment he was brought back to the citadel hotel room, and the feeling of her soft body coupling with his own. "Away from me…" He glared at the tiny glowing figure, hating it beyond all words. It had the _audacity _to choose the form of the child?

"What right do you have?" he demanded furiously. "What right do you have to dictate our future?"

It stared at him. "It is inevitable. The created will always rebel against their creators."

"Irrelevant." John replied. "That does not give you the right to do _any _of what you've done here. That's no reason for the cycle to continue. We're not going to play your game."

"My Reapers will win." The Catalyst tried.

"I know." John replied, feeling oddly cheerful; he had a plan of action now. He tapped the cold surface beside him. "Come sit down. Watch it with me."

"The Reapers will win."

"Let them." John said.

"You can stop them."

"But I'm not going to. I'm acting on self-determination. I want to choose my own fate. Not one you've provided for me."

The Catalyst was quiet for some time. "You speak for all organics?"

"I speak for all intelligent _life_." John replied. "If we make mistakes, they are _ours _to live with! _Ours _to correct!"

"You will bring chaos upon yourselves."

"Life pulls through!" John replied angrily, "Look at what's happening out there! Every race, from Rachni to Geth to Asari all gathered together. _Working together_! We can manage without you. We have done for thousands of years. Your cycle is destructive and unnecessary. We don't need to rely on you to protect us."

"You choose chaos?"

"I choose self-determination. And that is not the same thing. Stop the Reapers!" Shepard urged. _I choose to see Miranda again. _"See how we fare without them." _I choose to stand at Garrus' grave and…calibrate…_

_Calibrate…?_ His head-trauma must have been far worse than he thought… he held his hand up to his ear and felt the warm trickle of blood. _Not good…_

He turned on his Omnitool and activated an emergency beacon. Not that it would do much; there wouldn't be any ships available. Not for some time.

"Without the reapers, Synthetic life will destroy all Organic life."

"Well when that starts to happen, you can send the reapers in to keep the peace." John replied, pumping his last unit of medigel. "Why haven't you thought of that? Ending my civilization is not the solution to that problem. Especially since it'll apparently crop up again in fifty thousand years anyway." He stared out at the battle. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the Reapers were beginning to slow. He was seeing less and less of their beams. He felt a small amount of ever-elusive hope flare within him.

The Catalyst appeared deep in thought. When it spoke again, it's tone was hesitant, ungrounded. It pointed at the glowing blue conduits. "You can choose to control the Reapers yourself…"

"That would destroy the Mass Relays, leaving thousands of Aliens stranded here. Most of them wouldn't survive it. It would also destroy my civilization. Simply take your Reapers and leave. Come back when you're needed."

"You must choose your path." It said hesitantly.

"I already did." Shepard replied. "Now it's your turn."

The child turned thoughtfully, watching the blossoming explosions and crisscrossing lines of fire. The sight was beautiful in its own way. Horrific, but beautiful.

"Very well…" it said slowly as a trio of Reapers soared past their platform. "I will…monitor."

"You do that…" Shepard lay back against the metal floor. He watched the interplay of lights flickering on the strange mechanisms. His vision began to waver and dance with them. Dizziness swept through him, and he felt… heavy.

_This is how it ends? _He filled his mind with thoughts of Miranda until white light took him.

* * *

**This was a badly-written, jumbled mess slapped together at 3:00 in the morning. Tell me how it compares to the actual game ending, and if I should continue it. If I get too much negativity, I'll take it down. I just felt like having a go at fixing the problem. If i do continue it, i promise you'll see a relatively happy ending, hopefully better written than this first chapter.**

**otherwise, this is a oneshot.**


	2. Fever Dreams

Fever Dreams

_The Normandy surged forward, keeping just ahead of the blue maelstrom, a thunderous, ever-expanding destructive wave of energy spreading from the destroyed relay. Joker was there, at the sparking, flashing controls, sweat beaded on his forehead, teeth clenched, desperately working to wring every last drop of speed from the engines but the wave was growing closer._

_His crew! Shepard wanted to stop it! He wanted to protect them! He wanted-_

"_You can't." said the Catalyst, it's child-like voice burning in his ears._

"_What can I do?"_

_A thoughtful pause… "You can change the color of the explosion…"_

_The outer edge of the wave caught the Normandy's stern, and she bucked, her engines exploding, throwing the ship out of control._

* * *

_Miranda…_

Shepard was floating. He could feel the darkness pulling at him, urging him to withdraw further…

Muffled voices were speaking to one another, and he could hear the sounds of combat boots stomping on metal. Running. Growing louder. He forced the darkness back and opened his eyes. Four suited soldiers were standing around him, lifting him… he could see the stars wheeling above their heads…

"Commander!" the medic asked. "Commander, where is Anderson? Where is Admiral Anderson?"

Shepard's consciousness wavered, and collapsed. He sank back into the dream…

* * *

_The world was lush, covered in an opulent green jungle with swaying vines, giant leaves, and enormously tall trees. Dappled sunlight played across the untouched ground. The air was filled with the sound of chirping birds, and somewhere in the distance was the constant crash of a waterfall. _

_The Normandy lay in a shallow valley, twisted and broken. Smoke billowed from numerous holes in the hull. Shepard knew it would never fly again. The sight devastated him, a cold hand gripping his heart._

_The airlock door hissed, and groaned, the bent frame protesting against the hydraulics. It finally snapped open. Joker stumbled out into the sunlight, staring at the new world. Shepard felt a small amount of relief flow through him! His crew was alive!_

_Yet once again his hopes were dashed as Garrus Vakarian and Ashley Williams stepped out behind the pilot. They stood there in the sunlight, taking in their new home._

_How? Ashley Williams was dead! Garrus Vakarian was dead! They hadn't gone through the beam with him. It was the only possible conclusion…_

_And that meant…_

* * *

The Voices drew him back. A hand shook him by the shoulder. "Stay with us, Commander. We're going to get you back!"

He tried to respond, but the best he could do was stare blearily at the roof of the shuttle.

"Holy shit! Look at that ! They're bugging out! We won!" the pilot called out.

Sounds of surprise and amazement echoed through the cramped space. He felt the shuttle vibrate as it began re-entry.

"We won! He did it! Shepard did it! They're going!"

A dark shape wavered over Shepard's head, scanning him with its Omnitool."Guys, get back here!" The medic called out. "I think we're losing him."

More shuffling feet.

"What about his implant trauma module?" John heard one of the medics ask.

"Looks like it stopped working an hour ago."

"My god, what kept him going?"

"I dunno… willpower?"

_I wanted to see Miranda again…_

* * *

_A pristine snowy field, desecrated with two tracks of human footprints. One big, one small. The trees were outlined. Leafless. As John observed it, he felt a deep sense of peace settle over him. The sky was bright, filled with the giant silhouette of another planet. Or perhaps a moon of some kind. John could make out the shape of a third celestial sphere behind it. The scene was bathed in a serene blue glow._

_Two figures stood in the center of the field. A man and a child._

_He could hear the child's voice echo across the field. "Did that all really happen?"_

_"Yes." The man answered, his voice revealing his great age. He sounded a little like the Illusive man, but where the latter's voice was stone-cold and logical, this man's voice was soft and kindly. "But some of the details have been lost in time. It all happened so very long ago."_

_"When can I go to the stars?" the child asked._

_"One day, my sweet." The old man replied._

_The two of them stared at the bulky blue orb. Shepard felt his own gaze drawn to it._

_"What will be there?"_

_"Anything you can imagine. Our galaxy has billions of stars. Each of those stars could have many worlds. Every world could be home to a different form of life, and every life is a special story of its own."_

_"Tell me another story about the Shepard." The child asked._

_"It's getting late but…" the old man hesitated. "Alright. One more story…"_

* * *

**This is the shortest chapter I have ever posted in my life. But I wasn't about to tag it to anything else, and the next will be much longer. Minimum 1000 words. I needed to get past the last of the "real" ending. I have an idea where to take this now, and Shepard and Miranda will be reunited at the end. As they should be.**

**I'm also happy to report that since I started writing and thinking about this, my desire to play through not only ME3, but 1 and 2 as well, came back. I was able to let go of Bioware's Boondoggle, and substitute this. I'll play until the catalyst asks me what I choose, then I'll stop and read this and feel better. I hope this helps the rest of you get back into the games like it's doing for me.**

**I can enjoy them again.**


	3. Recovery

Recovery

Pain spread through Shepard's abdomen. Hard as he tried, his tired muscles would barely respond. His nerves tingled, and he could feel hot and cold flashes spread and disappear all over his body. A bright light was shining through his eyelids, and he turned his head, trying to escape it. Female voices spoke in hushed tones. One young, one old and familiar. Both of them possessed foreign accents.

"Miranda?" John groaned.

"I'm afraid not, Commander."

John forced his stinging eyes open. He was in the Normandy's medical bay, lying among several different soldiers, none of whom he recognized. The white light which had been burning his eyes resolved into the Normandy's incandescent ceiling lights. The medical bay was filled with wounded soldiers, at varying levels of health.

Chakwas' relieved face appeared, giving him a thorough examination.

Shepard groaned again. "What's going on?"

The doctor looked across the med-bay and delivered an order. "He's awake, Traynor. Fetch James, would you? And message Admiral Hackett." She looked back down at him and smiled. "We won, Commander. The Reapers up and left in the middle of the battle. Only a few minutes after you activated your beacon."

John stared up at her, trying to fire his brain up. "They're gone?"

"They left." Chakwas reaffirmed. "They ignored the fleets and disappeared. I have no idea why, or where they went. I was actually hoping _you _could shed some light on that."

John grimaced.

"Not at the moment, obviously." The Doctor observed. "It was touch and go for quite a while, John. Your wounds were extensive and critical. I've no idea how you made it at all, to be perfectly hon- don't move."

John let the doctor push him firmly back down onto the uncomfortable gurney. From what little he'd been able to see, they had hooked him up to every conceivable medical device available. He had no idea what half of the technology did, and wasn't particularly interested in learning.

He raised a heavy hand and gestured weakly at the surrounding soldiers. "Who are all of these people?"

"Casualties. It's been three days since you first landed." Chakwas told him. "The Normandy has been acting in support roles, including patching up the wounded. We are one of the few human medical bays capable of treating Turian, Krogan, and Quarian patients."

"Three days…" John mumbled, trying piece together his vague memories. There had been a… a child. On the citadel… And the Illusive Man… Anderson was dead…

John gave up and let his eyes close, sleep overtaking him. Some things could wait. As he drifted off, he heard the faint hiss of the bay door. Chakwas show his shoulder gently, bringing him back. "Commander…"

He turned his head away from her, and towards the entrance. James was standing there, looking sorrowful. Within his arms was an item John knew all too well. And he knew immediately what it meant.

A beaten, well-worn Turian Kuwashii visor. Ten names had been carved onto the frame in primitive Turian lettering, with an eleventh scratched out. The item had been bent heavily out of shape by something either very strong, or very heavy. Or both. It was stained with dried blood, dark blue in colour.

"Shepard…" the lieutenant strode forward awkwardly, stepping past several of the wounded soldiers and coming to a halt a foot from the edge of Shepard's cot. Vega seemed to be searching for something to say. He was holding the visor with the same formal air that a soldier would have when carrying a folded flag at a military funeral.

John reached out with a trembling hand and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal.

"I'm sorry." James told him honestly as Chakwas watched in silence.

John set the visor down on his chest and stared at it, a hollow, deadened expression on his face.

"Krogan squads only took it back yesterday." The soldier reported. "We were sent in to clean up any remaining resistance. I found it near a downed Mako."

"Where's the body?" John asked, rubbing Sidonis' scratched out name with his thumb.

"There wasn't one. Just his visor and a whole lot of blood." James reported. He spotted the hope in Shepard's eyes and shook his head. "That doesn't mean much, sir. We didn't find much of William's body either; that Reaper was accurate. Besides that, the husks swarmed that area after Hammer failed. Anyone who survived Harbinger would have been killed by them. To the best of our knowledge, you are the only survivor."

Shepard closed his eyes, screwing his lids tightly shut, trying to block the world out. Chakwas reached down towards the relic. "Commander, perhaps you would allow me to clean it-"

"Don't!" John recoiled, snatching the object from her grasp. His voice cracked slightly. "Don't touch it!"

Chakwas sighed and exchanged a mournful look with James. "We'll let you rest, Commander."

* * *

Liara stared across the spacious hall. It had been a foyer before the war. An extravagant testament to the power and prestige of the law firm it belonged to. The building around it had collapsed, but the foyer itself was intact. Relatively clean. It had been turned into a makeshift hospital. The giant bay windows, starting at a height of about ten feet, and rising all the way up to the ceiling, had been smashed. Blown out by the myriad of explosions. Mass effect barriers had replaced them now to keep the dust out. Even as the Asari stood at the entrance, she could hear the generators one floor below, chugging tirelessly to keep them up. They were colored in orange, yellow, and periwinkle blue. The bright sunlight shone through them, giving the impression that she was walking through a church with stained-glass windows.

The hall was covered in beds and cots, most of which were occupied by groaning soldiers of all races, and a few civilians. Word had got back to the few remaining human refugees that Earth was in the process of being retaken, and more than a few ships had arrived back, carrying civilians, much to the military armada's frustration. Any civilians that landed had been conscripted and set up in clean-up duties.

The Asari scanned the bay and spotted her destination: a small cot in the far corner, somewhat separate from all the others. It had a curtain around it- left wide open- and a small bedside table. The cot's occupant had propped himself up on a set of pillows, and was reading an open book on his lap.

As she approached, her path was blocked by a swarthy human sergeant, armed to the teeth.

"It's alright." The patient said. The guard moved aside and allowed her to pass.

Shepard looked somehow both far younger, and far older than he had the night they had landed. Around his eyes and mouth, the worried creases which had so thoroughly taken root over the past year were fading fast. Liara realized that she had never seen John Shepard without them. Not even in their younger days, chasing Saren.

He looked younger. Healthier, despite his injuries, and when he greeted her with a smile, his eyes were as sharp and thoughtful as they ever had been.

She took a seat at the foot of his bed. "Hello John."

"Liara." He replied, folding up the novel and setting it carefully on the bedside table. "How are you?"

"Bruised." She answered, rubbing her shoulder, "But I will pull through."

"What happened?"

"A brute got the better of me." Liara shrugged. "I am fine."

"Good." He nodded. "That's good."

"I am sorry I did not visit sooner, but there's been a lot of confusion..."

Shepard shrugged. "I only woke up yesterday anyway. This wasn't what I was expecting to see, but…" he gestured at his modest accommodations. "I made the most of it."

"You shouldn't have been moved from the Normandy." Liara said severely. "You were on your deathbed only six days ago."

"The Normandy has one of the few Med-bays capable of treating the critically injured." John said. "I'm not critically injured anymore. It made sense."

Liara smiled. "Shepard, have you ever made a selfish choice in your life?"

"One or two." He replied. His face softened and he pointed over her shoulder.

Liara followed his gaze. A mother was sitting on a nearby cot, a small child curled up in her arms, fast asleep. An off-duty marine, very clearly the father, was sitting with them, stroking the child's hair gently.

"That's what I fought so hard to see. I wasn't about to give it up."

Liara frowned. The words clearly meant much to him, yet from her perspective it seemed to have come from nowhere at all.

"Care to explain, John?"

"I just… stuff happened."

"On the citadel?" Liara prompted. Rumours had spread like wildfire about what the man had been through. It seemed common knowledge that he had somehow convinced the Reapers to leave. One of the reasons Liara was unhappy about him being moved off the Normandy was the sheer amount of inane questioning she felt he'd encounter. It wasn't good for a recovering patient. Especially one who had been through so much. Her eyes strayed carefully to the Turian visor, which Shepard had placed on the small bedside cabinet.

"I'm sorry about Garrus and Ashley, Commander."

Shepard reached over and gently lifted the visor off the table. He held it in his hands, staring down at the engraved names. "He told me that if there's a heaven, he'll be waiting at the bar." John's voice was frail, clinging to the Turian's promise.

"You're an atheist Shepard." Liara reminded him.

He nodded silently.

"Anyway…" The Asari decided to show some mercy and change the subject, "Do you have everything you need here? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He replied distantly. "I'm a little surprised Hackett hasn't dragged me out for questioning."

"He has a lot on his plate." Liara lied. She had, in fact, been running interference, trying to hold off the moment when John would have to revisit his experiences.

Shepard nodded. Once again his eyes strayed off to focus on another cot, near the center of the hall. A wounded Marine had struggled out of bed to embrace a young woman. The man pulled away and drew her into a long, passionate kiss. He probably wasn't even aware of it, but the look on Shepard's face told Liara all she needed to know.

"I'm sure she's alright, commander." She assured him.

"Can you find her, Liara?" he asked. "Please? I want to know she's alive."

Liara smiled. "I will do my best, John. I'm glad she means so much to you."

Shepard nodded again, his eyes still lingering on the happily reunited couple. "We all fought this war for something, Liara."


	4. Debriefing

Debriefing

Shepard stared down the long, sloping field. He could smell the stench of burning husks, even though the incinerators were miles away. Gunfire rattled in the distance. At the base of the slope were the three reaper pillars. Massive monoliths. He winced at the memories they brought back, though they lacked the bright beam of light, and were far less menacing in the daytime. The black cloud which had occupied the sky above the city had cleared, and instead of the nightmare realm the city had been the night they had landed, it looked… like London. Ruined and desecrated nearly beyond belief, but it was a human city, once again.

He stared at the gaps between the pillars. The land beyond was an ocean of ash. A scar he suspected would never really fade, reminiscent of Sovereign's landing site on Eden Prime. Harbinger had planted itself between those pillars, and torn the last remnants of Operation Hammer to shreds.

The field itself was nearly deserted, only a few alliance soldiers remained, picking their way through the rubble. Behind him, he could hear the sound of Makos, and the chattering of military engineers as they set about clearing debris from the main routes.

"Careful, Loco." James said as he began a slow trek down the slope. "If you get hurt, it's my ass on the line."

He needn't have worried; John's side was aching madly. Shepard knew it was a bad idea to be up so soon, but he had to visit it, at least once, before the clean-up crew got there. John had spent two more days cooped up in the hospital. Among other things, he had done his best to keep tabs on how the fight was going. Liara's daily visits had done much in that respect, as had James' cheerful company. Between the two of them, John had managed to get a clear picture of the situation outside his serene recovery ward.

The Reapers had left, but their husks remained. The job of reclaiming earth was far from over, though far less daunting. The reapers themselves had headed on a direct course back into dark space, hopefully never to return. They had left their troops behind, however. The husks were still hostile, though they lacked the coordination they had before. It had turned from a full-fledged war into a high-stakes cleanup. Or at least that's the way it felt. The collected alien armada had dozens of footholds on every continent, in every country. More troops landed every day, working in tandem with the human resistance. It would only be a matter of months before Earth was cleared. London was a haven. A place of relative peace and quiet. The first city to be reclaimed, and most likely the first to be rebuilt.

More personal news was harder to come by. Communication amongst the species, while sufficient to accomplish battlefield goals, was lacking in terms of tending to the dead and wounded. Indeed the communication lines were so mixed up that even Liara had encountered troubles trying to sift through the information. There had been no news from Jacob, Grunt, or Samara. Tali was nowhere to be found, though John remained hopeful. Neither had Wrex been seen, although Shepard had heard that the krogan were still fighting, somewhere across the Thames, so perhaps he was there.

Shepard sighed, tightening his grip on Garrus' visor. In the end it was far easier to recount what he did know. Garrus was dead. Ash was dead. Cortez was dead. Anderson was dead. James and Liara were both still alive, something he was infinitely grateful for. They had made his recovery a little easier, transferring various things from the Normandy including a set of loose civilian clothes, and a book or two.

Edi and Joker were still around, as were Chakwas and Traynor. All four of them had been too busy to visit, but he'd received a few well-wishing messages.

"Over here, Commander!" he heard James call. The man was standing beside an enormous scorch mark. A Mako was lying on its side nearby, the wheels sitting at odd angles on their bent and twisted axles. The front of the vehicle had been melted off completely, and flowed into a deep trench which had been scored across the rough terrain. The sand and debris within it had melted from the heat, forming strange, smoothly marbled patches cutting across the dirt.

"Williams was here." James said, pointing down at the trench. John winced. Ashley had been hit head-on, and the heat had melted a very rough silhouette into the dirt. Scorched pieces of armour, none of them bigger than a deck of cards, were scattered around the epicenter.

John crouched, moving slowly to minimize the pain, and picked up a small amount of dirt, running it through his fingers.

"I kinda wish I could have gotten to know her a little better." James lamented.

"She was a good soldier." John replied. "And a better friend. Where was Garrus?"

His caretaker pointed at the downed Mako. He helped Shepard over the trench, and they examined the leeward side. It was covered in a large amount of Turian blood. John stared down at the blackened ground. Emotion filled him. Not grief, though he knew it would eventually hit him. Disbelief would be a much better description. A refusal to accept things as they were. It would have been easier, perhaps, had the Turian's body been there.

"Too bad they were the ones to draw the short straw." James said. "It coulda been me running down that slope with you."

"It wouldn't have been you." John told him firmly. "I picked them both. Him _and_ Williams."

"Not sure whether or not I should be offended, Loco." James smiled slightly. "Why them? I mean, I know about you and Scars, but Williams?"

"When I climbed the Citadel Tower, chasing Saren, It was with Garrus and Ashley." John said. "It was… it had to be them." John shrugged. "I wanted to be there with them at the end. He and I made it through everything else together, and I thought…" He died away into silence, staring at the blood-stained surface.

James patted him on the shoulder. "If it helps, I think they were both probably thinking the same thing."

John frowned, still staring. His eyes had grown unfocussed as he delved into the realm of memory. "Shepard and Vakarian storm the gates of heaven." He muttered, feeling the cold visor between his fingers..

"What was that?"

"You know, if I could do things over…" John said quietly, "I think I would have preferred to die here on the field with them."

"Bullshit!" James said. His voice was sharp, his tone angry enough to wrestle Shepard's attention from the bloodstained ground. The marine glared at him and held up an angry finger. "After all the speeches you gave me, you're not allowed to think like that, understand, Shepard? What good would dying here have done anybody? The reapers would still be here! Earth would still be lost. Everything Scars fought for would have been destroyed! I doubt he'd want you to remember him by sitting around moping!" He took a step back, breathing hard. John stared at him in shock.

"Get better!" the muscle-bound soldier ordered. "Help rebuild."

John gave the scene one last look. "Where's the body, James?"

"I dunno. The reapers retook this ground after you made it through. It was a few hours before the krogan rolled in. They could have done anything with it."

_Not even a body…_ John clenched his fists helplessly. The injustice of it was staggering. The Turian had fought as hard as him. As long as him. The two of them together had taken on the universe, and won. And now not even to be left with a body to bury…

He glared up at the sky in regret and fury. _If only it had been someone else! _It was a horrible thing to wish for, but at that moment, John didn't care. All he wanted was to have his friend back.

"Let's get you back to the hospital." James said.

* * *

A surprise was waiting at the hospital in the form of Admiral Hackett, dressed in his spotless uniform. With his steel-eyed gaze, and pitted, clean features, he looked unreal. Larger than life.

"Commander." He greeted.

"Sir." John replied, saluting.

"I've got to report back to the Normandy." James said, giving the Admiral a salute, which the man returned wholeheartedly with a bear-like growl. "Dismissed lieutenant."

"I'll check in later, Commander." James said, disappearing.

Hackett helped Shepard take a seat on the bed. "I'm sorry it took this long to follow up. Things have been hectic since the reapers left. I'm also fairly sure Miss T'soni was stalling."

John stayed quiet.

"How are you feeling, Commander?" Hackett prompted.

"Tired."

"Not relieved?

John laughed. "I don't think it's hit me yet, sir. I can barely remember life before this whole thing started."

Admiral Hackett nodded. "Take some time, Commander."

"How is the fleet holding together, sir?"

"We took some heavy losses." The Admiral admitted. "All the races did. But we're left with more than half the ships intact."

"Call that a win, then."

Hackett nodded. "That's not why I'm here, though. We just started to examine the citadel, and I sent a team to the location where you were picked up."

John looked at him sharply, wondering just how much had been seen. "And?"

"We found Admiral Anderson's body." He said, "And another. Half-husk."

"The Illusive man." Shepard replied.

Hackett came to a halt and looked John straight in the eye. "Commander?"

"Sir?"

"What happened up there?"

His stay in the hospital had given John plenty of time to think, and he'd spent it pondering two things. The first was what he was going to tell the galaxy. Everyone knew that he was somehow closely linked to the Reaper's retreat, and he had thought long and hard about what he was going to say. About what he could, and could not report. The universe wasn't ready to face the truth of the citadel. John felt a little hypocritical, making that judgment by himself, especially considering the Catalyst's own actions. But the opportunity was too big to miss. "The Crucible was never a weapon, sir." He reported. "It was a way for me to communicate with the being who created and controls the reapers."

Hackett stared.

"Sir, they are an enormous organic and synthetic hive-mind. No individuals. Not the way we see individuals."

"You spoke to it?" the Admiral frowned. "What happened?"

Here it was. The lie. If John could make the Admiral believe it, things would work. It wasn't actually all that far from the truth. Shepard was just being less specific than the Catalyst. But the reapers were a big enough threat to prompt long-lasting change. John said, "They attacked us because they see us as chaos, sir. Their…society is all about control. They took one look at our galaxy, with its internal squabbles and stupid political games, and decided that we weren't worthy of existing."

Hackett nodded slowly. "And who gave them the right to decide that?"

"That's essentially what I asked." Shepard said. "I negotiated a second chance."

"What were the conditions of their withdrawal?"

"That we do better." John said. "It's that simple. They're watching us, and if they see us devolving back into petty wars and xenophobia, they'll come back and finish the job."

Hackett whistled. "That's a tall order, Commander."

"It is."

"Looks like we'll need your experience over the coming months."

There it was. The second hurdle. "No sir."

Hackett frowned. He blinked a few times and stared sideways at John. "Commander?"

"No sir." John repeated. "I just saved the galaxy. The Normandy has one more mission. After that, I'm done. We have to visit every flagship in the fleets, and the home-worlds of every species, and convene a new council. My formal resignation will be on your desk after we get the first new council together. I'll explain the situation them and after that, you're on your own."

"I'd like you to give it some thought, Shepard." Hackett said in a tone of fatherly patience.

"I have, Admiral." John said, keeping his tone as polite as possible.

Hackett sighed. "You have a duty as an Alliance-"

"With all due respect sir, I stopped fighting on behalf of the Alliance a long time ago. Duty wasn't enough to see it through. I have two objectives over the next little while, sir." John held up Garrus' visor. "I have to bury a friend, and find a woman."

"A _woman_?" Hackett's troubled look deepened, although it also grew softer. "Anderson never told me anything about a woman."

"I didn't tell him." John said. "I didn't tell very many people at all. But I want a life with her, and that couldn't happen when the Reapers were around. That's what kept me going."

Hackett chuckled. "I supposed congratulations are in order then… May I at least know her name."

"Miranda Lawson."

"The Cerberus Operative?"

Now it was John's turn to stare. Hackett's smile widened. "That explains quite a bit from her end. She contacted us a few weeks ago. She helped us clean up what's left of Cerberus. She wouldn't tell me why she changed sides, but her knowledge was far too valuable to pass up."

"She's… " John stared. She had only been a step away? "Where is she?"

"On earth." Hackett said.

John sighed in relief, feeling his heart soar. She was alive! "Where is she? Can I see her?"

"If I arrange that, will you reconsider your resignation?" the Admiral asked.

Shepard's face fell.

"You're a symbol, Commander. This war is going to take a few years for the initial wounds to heal, and the Alliances to cement. Things could fall apart unless people have that symbol. We need you. Your face, at least." He sighed. "I'm not asking for much heavy lifting. Just be around. Wear the uniform. You can take some paid leave, too." Hackett said. "God knows, if anyone in the galaxy deserves a month or two of rest, it's you."

"Where is she?" John asked.

"I'll have to check." The Admiral said. "Will you stay on?"

"Maybe." John grunted, trying to keep his tone civil. He was tired. Too tired to deal with that kind of game.

Hackett sighed. "I'll be back Commander. Give things some more thought."

* * *

**Sorry this took so long to update. **

**I'm writing this for you guys as much as me. I have a few questions which I'm torn on. What do you guys think:**

**Should Garrus survive? That hasn't been decided yet.**

**Should Shepard stay with the Alliance?**

**Also, awesome Garrus story: this happened completely and utterly randomly, and it was AMAZING! **

**When I fought Saren's husk on my Canon Shepard playthrough of Mass Effect 1, Garrus killed it. Ash was down and I was in cover, trying to recharge my shields and waiting for my overheated gun to cool off. Saren leapt at me, and Garrus scored a headshot with his sniper rifle. Council saved. End of game.**

**Two games later it came full circle, I'm fighting Kai Leng in the Illusive Man's inner sanctum. EDI is down, and I'm in cover trying to recharge my shields and reload my Mattock. Leng vaults over my cover, gets ready to slice me wide open, and Garrus scores a SECOND headshot with the Black Widow! Right through Leng's temple. It knocked him back over the barricade! It was incredible! And entirely unscripted! **

**Long story short, Garrus Vakarian is a GOD!**


	5. The Dead

The Dead

Hackett stared at the holographic woman in front of him, and wished he were thirty years younger. She was slim, relatively tall, and very well proportioned. The term 'raven black hair' was one Hackett had heard quite often tossed around in the romanticized novels his own wife read, but until this point, he had never actually seen it. The woman sported a magnificent blue-black mane, which framed her face, accenting it's shadows perfectly, and providing striking contrast with her pale skin and crystal blue eyes. The effect was far greater than the sum of its parts, and she left the admiral in shock, at least for the first moment or two.

Yet for all that, her beauty had been marred by her circumstances. Her face, though perfectly sculpted, was heavily creased with worry. Her cheeks were caved and sallow, marked with unmistakable signs of malnutrition. It was clear she hadn't smiled in some time, and her crystal blue eyes carried the hollowness of those who had been through far too much. In recent days Hackett had seen that hollowness more times than he could count, although John Shepard carried the worst case of it.

"Miss Lawson?" He asked. He had communicated with her before, but only through written messages. He eyed the Cerberus logo on her frayed, figure-fitting uniform. Until his talk with Shepard, he hadn't been entirely sure whether or not he could trust her. He still wasn't quite convinced, but he had enough faith in John Shepard that he was willing to give her a fair chance.

"What can I do for you Admiral?" she asked. Her voice was weary, but her eyes were as sharp and focused as ever.

An Australian, he noted, recognizing the accent. The resistance had not had any contact from that continent in a very long time. As of that moment, combined Turian and Geth ground forces were in the process of retaking Sydney. They hadn't found much left.

He said, "It's about Commander Shepard."

The woman stiffened, shutting her eyes tightly, her delicate jaw locked shut, teeth clenched.

"He's alive." Hackett assured her, recognizing the reaction of one preparing for the very worst. His guess was vindicated a moment later by her heavy sigh of relief.

"How is he?" She asked immediately. Hackett was surprised by her reaction. While the relief he had been expecting was clearly there, the worry in her face only seemed to increase, supplemented by a sudden new layer of additional uncertainty.

"Wounded, but well on his way to recovery." The Admiral told her.

"Is he in London? Which hospital."

"I'll have all relevant information forwarded to you," Hackett began, "But I need something in return."

"Yes?"

"He's told me he plans to resign."

Miranda sighed. "That stubborn ass. Did he say why?"

"I think he's under the impression that his work would interfere with his efforts to have a life with you." Hackett said quickly, trying to skim over that particular detail. He wasn't an unromantic person, and wasn't even all that opposed to John Shepard's decision, but the galaxy needed the Commander, and Hackett wasn't going to give up without a fight. He said, "That makes you the lynch pin, so to speak. I was hoping you could convince him to stay on. At least for a few more years."

Again, the woman's reaction struck him as curious. On one level she was complimented, as expected. But again, there were doubts and misgivings. Too many to slip past his radar. He found himself contemplating what the woman's life had been like before she met Shepard, and the challenges that adjusting to a normal life would present to the war-weary couple. Shepard hadn't shown it, but there were clearly some unresolved issues in their relationship. Things said, perhaps. Or _not _said, which were always worse. He found himself hoping for the commander's sake that the two of them would pull through regardless. In every other aspect of his life and career, Shepard had always been able to beat the odds.

"I'll talk to him." The woman said.

"I'd appreciate that." Hackett replied, "good luck to both of you."

She fixed him with a sad, cold stare before disconnecting.

* * *

The chair underneath Urdnot Wrex's bulky form creaked in protest, and bent slightly. It was far too small for the Krogan chieftain. John sat on his hospital bed, smiling in relief. The monstrous warrior's visit had taken him by complete surprise, but it was a welcome one.

"Shepard!" the Krogan said, his voice somewhat mournful, "I hear we have you to thank for talking the Reapers into leaving…"

"You sound depressed." John observed lightly.

"It would've been better if you'd have blown them up!" the Krogan lamented.

"We can't have everything we want, Wrex." John said.

The Krogan chuckled darkly.

"How are you guys holding up?" Shepard asked.

"We're pushing through." the alien told him. "The husks aren't making it easy, so at least we're having fun." His tone grew somber. "I've seen a lot of dead Krogan over the past week, Shepard."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. And with the Genophage cured, we'll have those numbers back up in no time." The Krogan shifted position slightly, and Shepard heard the faint groan of protesting metal. He was amazed the little chair was holding up so well.

"About that," John began awkwardly.

"I know, I know…" Wrex waved a dismissive hand, "Diplomacy and all that garbage."

"It's not garbage!" John replied. "I don't want the cure to have been a mistake! And I don't want to have to correct it."

"Eve is on your side, Shepard. So am I. Besides, the females are tired of war." The old Krogan chuckled. "It's amazing how fast us men can change our minds when sex is on the line."

"That's pretty much a universally accepted truth." John observed. His companion burst out in bellowing laughter, startling a few of the other patients.

"Seriously, though." Shepard said, "Don't take back all your old territory."

The Krogan fell silent, his eyes narrowed.

"Ask the Council for the Batarian's old territory." John said. "The Kite's Nest and the Skyllian Verge. There aren't enough of them left to use it, and you guys need the space."

Wrex's face brightened. "And no one likes them anyway! Good plan, Shepard. That might actually work."

"I hope it does." John said in complete honesty.

"Anyway I didn't come here to talk politics, Shepard." Wrex said. "I came because we found Vakarian's body."

John stared.

"We were the ones sent in to retake the beam after the Reapers left." Wrex said. "Grunt found it lying by a MAKO." There was some sadness in his voice, but he did not sound nearly as broken up by it as John felt he should have. Wrex had never been one to beat around the bush, or to let facts get dragged down by emotional baggage; something John had always respected in him, but something in Wrex's offhand manner was extremely offensive.

"It's been moved to one of our morgues." The Krogan explained.

"Take me to it." Shepard ordered.

"I thought you'd say that." Wrex said. "Might want to clear it with your doct-"

"Get me over there." John ordered again.

The Krogan's eyes darted between Shepard's face, and the battered visor sitting on the nightstand. He said, "Alright. But Liara's going to be pissed off."

"I don't care." John replied.

* * *

Unlike the homely, sterile human hospital, the Krogan encampment south of the Thames was a dirty, grunge-filled mess. The stench of rotten flesh hung heavy in the air. The building lacked windows and doors, and debris was strewn everywhere. Yet it's occupants seemed perfectly at home. Somehow the Krogan managed to imprint their species' personality in the place. The different clans had separated themselves off into individual sections of the three-story office building. Primeval clan markers and colors adorned most of the inner walls. It wasn't an encouraging sight. Clearly Wrex's plan of unifying in the face of the Reaper threat had run aground, though it was far from sunk.

The Krogan, wounded and otherwise, paid him little heed as Wrex lead him through the ground floor. Those who did bother to meet his eye were quiet, showing respectful deference. Word had gotten around; whether one liked humans or not, John Shepard was out of bounds.

"In here, Shepard." The Krogan rumbled, stopping by a small side-room. A few corpses had been laid on desks and tables within, but Shepard's eye was immediately drawn to the familiar blue armour.

The Turian's body had been cleaned up. Treated with the utmost respect, which was surprising from the Krogan, although the Turian had earned it for helping to cure the genophage. His leg was a mangled mess of shredded meat and broken shards of bone, but that wasn't the most grievous injury. There was a giant black hole where his chest should have been. A gaping injury which John could have easily stuck his own arm through it.

"A banshee." Wrex explained, standing behind him. "I've seen them do it to plenty of us. Bastards!" he added.

John walked up slowly and placed his hand on the Turian's limp arm. Garrus' eyes were shut, and his face was calm. The beginning stages of decomposition were only just beginning to show, and mostly in the smell. The Turian's clan markings were still visible, and his mandibles hung open awkwardly.

Shepard set the visor down beside Garrus' hand. He tried to think of something to say, a way to vocalize the feelings welling up inside him. He could feel the onset of tears, and smiled slightly as Garrus' dry voice echoed in his imagination: "Crying, Shepard? Really?"

Shepard sighed. For three and a half years, the Turian had been there. Steady and unwavering. Through every fight, every hardship. The very best and the very worst. That he didn't live to see the end of it all was a travesty of the highest order!

"You'll be remembered." John promised. He couldn't do better than that. And he wouldn't let his own bulky legend overshadow the Turian's contributions to the fight. Garrus Vakarian was the possibly most important Turian ever to have lived. Through working with Shepard he had saved more lives than anyone else. John swore to himself that he wouldn't let that accomplishment be glossed over.

* * *

**I hate banshees. Any enemy who can insta-kill you with an unblockable attack is a pain in the ass. Thankfully they don't use it very often. But they are the very worst that the Reapers have to offer, and they are the only things I can imagine truly finishing off Garrus Vakarian.**

**And yes, I decided to kill him. I REALLY didn't want to, and I have tons of cool dialogue scenes with him. But the fact is that Bioware wanted a bitter-sweet ending, and this story's impact is much greater when Garrus is dead. He's my favorite character, but the sacrifice had to be made.**

**Sorry for the long wait. I've been wrestlign with writer's block, and final exam study.**


	6. Reunion

Reunion

"So what do you think, Commander?"

John blinked and looked up into the honest face of Diana Allers, her eyes ablaze with excitement.

"Hmm?" He said.

"A documentary!" She replied enthusiastically. The floating camera, her constant shadow, was hovering just behind her. "I've been covering almost everything about the war except you! Now that it's over, my viewers want a more intimate perspective on the man who pulled us through."

"Diana…" he began.

"I need to do this while I still have insider access, Shepard!" she said. "You can bet that there'll be documentaries, biographies. Maybe even a feature-length movie. I just want to stay ahead of the curve."

As it so often did of late, his gaze drifted over to Garrus' visor. He had never seen Garrus without it. He knew that it belonged with the body, which had been handed over to what was left of the Turian high command, but he hadn't been able to let go of it. "I'm sorry, Diana, but I have..." He said, glancing around the sunlit hospital, trying to come up with an excuse. "Walls. To stare at." He watched the woman's face fall, and tried not to feel guilty.

Diana rallied magnificently. Shepard was impressed by the way she was able to step over what amounted to a direct insult, and continue regardless. "Think about it, Shepard, who would you want to do a piece on you? The same moneygrubbing bigwigs who screwed up _Citadel_? Or the reporter who was with you on the Normandy throughout the Reaper War? Everyone knows Commander Shepard: The Symbol. Noone knows the man. If anyone else makes this video, that's all anyone will ever get. You've taken us through too much for people not to deserve more."

"You know me well enough to give your audience cursory insider's view." John told her patiently. "I'm sorry Diana, I'm just not…ready to do this right now. Tell them something is coming later. Maybe. After I've recovered."

Allers brightened. "So that was a 'yes', then?"

"That was an 'eventually, provided you stop bothering me right now'." John replied, smiling slightly.

Allers nodded and rose. "Thank you commander."

John watched her turn to leave, when a thought occurred to him. "Diana, wait!"

She turned back, looking hopeful. John pushed himself off his cot, wincing as pain shot through his side; a full recovery was still a little ways off. He picked up Garrus' visor and held it out for her to see. "Diana, I will give you exclusive access. Full disclosure. I'll answer any questions you have. I'll tell you the full story from beginning to end." He waited a moment as the statement sunk in, and took some mild pleasure in the way her face brightened. Then he added one word: "But."

"But?" she looked panic-stricken. "But what?"

"Garrus Vakarian." John said, holding up the visor. The woman's face lit up in understanding and she tapped a few keys on her omnitool. John tried not to glance at the floating camera behind her. He knew it was recording him, but he wasn't about to let that show. It couldn't look like a show. Not to anyone watching. He said, " Garrus Vakarian did more for this war than anyone else alive. He was the most important Turian in history, more than any Primarch or politician. He saw as much as I did, he was there with me from the very beginning to the very end. You make this documentary, and history remembers him." John began to motion with the visor, driving the point home. "His name. My name. My ship and crew. The Reapers. Understand?"

"My Turian viewers will like that."

"It's the truth." John replied evenly. "That's not to say that there aren't others who deserve credit, but when you have a friend who stands by you while the entire universe is going crazy…" he shook his head. "That's not going to be forgotten. Not by me, and not by anyone who remembers the Reaper War."

"It won't be." Allers promised. "But what about Joker and the rest of the Normandy's crew?"

"Oh, don't think they won't get credit too." John said. "Just make Sure Garrus is remembered."

"Can I ask a few questions?" Allers asked. "Just to pique my viewers' interest?"

"How many?" John responded cautiously.

"Three." The reporter hazarded. "Just to keep people watching."

"Ask."

"What's your favorite movie?"

"Blasto Saves Christmas." John replied.

Allers chuckled. "Not what I would have expected."

"It's fun." He explained. "And it takes my mind off things."

"Understandable, considering what happened." The reporter said. "After all is said and done, what was your greatest fear?"

"That we'd lose." John shrugged.

"Can you do any better than that, Commander?"

"Not…really. There was so much to worry about that it all kind of…" John shook his head. "If I worried about it all, then I'd be doing nothing else. I was afraid that we wouldn't get to see tomorrow. I was afraid we'd lose."

"Well… I guess that'll have to do." Diana sighed. "Alright third question: You spent quite a lot of this war fighting with Cerberus instead of the Reapers. They are hated by the galaxy, but according to your own crew, you still hold them in high regard. Could you explain that please?"

"That's… not exactly right." John said, glancing around the large room. Quite a few wounded soldiers were watching them curiously. They had heard the exchange, and wanted answers as much as Allers did. He continued. "I see them as victims, just as much as any other group taken by the Reapers. Dangerous victims, to be sure, but still victims. The fact is that I worked with them on a covert mission to take down the collectors. The crew they gave me were some of the most committed, competent, and intelligent people I've ever had the honor of working with. I ran into quite a few of them over the course of the war, and do you know what? They had all quit. The Cerberus Which the Galaxy knows isn't the one I joined. The one I joined was ethically questionable, sure. But on our side. People like Ken Donnelly, and Gabriella Daniels. Jacob Taylor and Mir-" he stopped.

She was standing at the hospital's entrance. _SHE _was standing at the hospital's entrance, bathed in sunlight and untouched by the dirt outside. Her white uniform was pristine, and her face as beautiful as ever. Her blue eyes were searching the enormous hall for him, ignoring the envious and disbelieving looks she was receiving from some of the male patients. She met his eye from across the hall, and smiled.

Allers turned to follow his line of sight and whistled. "Who is _that_?"

But John had already pushed past her. He kept his eyes on Miranda, half fearing that if he lost sight of her, she'd disappear forever. Diana's camera zipped along, following him a few meters behind. He limped across the hall as fast as pain would allow, brushing by cots and gently but firmly pushing a few doctors out of the way until at last he reached the clear zone of the entrance. Miranda took a few steps into the hospital, closing the distance between them.

"Shepard, I'm glad y-" the brunette began, but he cut her off with a deep, passionate kiss, one hand pulling her in at the small of her back, the other on her cheek. He drank in her scent, her warmth. He felt his grief and pain fade, buried under the sheer joyous relief of seeing her again. Of being near her again. The woman's own hands had settled lightly on his chest, applying a gentle reassuring pressure. Not enough to signal a desire to pull away, but reaffirming the fact she was there. That at long last, they were together again. He ignored a few cheers and hoots of appreciation from the wounded soldiers in the cots nearby.

At last he and Miranda were forced to break off, due mostly to lack of breath, but they stayed close, eyes shut, resting their foreheads together and letting their breaths intermingle. Miranda smiled and planted a smaller, quick kiss on his lips as an afterthought.

"That was amazing!" he heard Allers exclaim as Miranda pulled away. "What an iconic picture! The Star-crossed lovers, reunited at the end of the war! _That _is going to be a defining image! You never said anything about a _girl_, commander!" The reporter was grinning from ear to ear as she shutoff her Omnitool. She addressed Miranda first. "Who are you? What's your name?"

John ignored her, happily lost in Miranda's presence. The former Cerberus operative took control of the situation and pulled away from him for a moment to address the reporter. "Go away."

Allers blinked, taken aback, and then her grin faded. Her expression changed to one of shame and awkward sheepishness. "Right. I'll just…leave you two alone…We'll talk later, Commander…" She sidled off and disappeared.

At long last, John let go of Miranda. The woman stood back, examining him with her usual distance. Indeed, the only sign they had done anything at all was her slightly flushed cheeks. "We need to talk." She said.

John frowned, trying to read her. "Miri?"

"Outside." The woman continued. She took him by the hand and lead him out the door. They took shelter in a secluded building across the street. Like every other part of London, it was an absolute mess, but John didn't care. At that moment, _nothing_ could tarnish his giddy mood.

"So I guess _you_ found _me_." He said.

Miranda just watched him pensively. After a moment she said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I didn't think you'd survive." She whispered, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I said I would." He reminded her gently. He understood _that _particular concern, though. He hadn't been so sure he would have either.

"I know… but I was…" She paused to collect herself. "I've been cold, John. Distant. Colder than I should have been. Especially considering the stress you were under."

"I didn't get see you very much." John affirmed. "I assumed you were trying to avoid getting caught by Cerberus. You were also busy trying to find Oriana…"

"That was part of it. A large part. But not all of it." She studied his face, gathering courage for an admission of some kind. "I was trying to put some distance between us."

John stared.

"I was afraid…" she explained heavily. John could see how much the admission cost her.

"Of caring?" He asked. He felt a small amount of anger, but his relief at seeing her alive and well overruled everything else.

Her shoulders were shaking. It took him a moment to realize that she was crying. She obviously disliked it, and was doing her very best to hide it beneath her usual cold facade. He could tell, though. Despite her best efforts, tears showed, and every breath was shaking. Trembling.

John reached out and gently pulled her into a tender embrace.

"I was listening." She said, her voice muffled. "Every report. Every debrief. Every… every rumor I could find."

"While trying not to care?" He teased gently.

"I know." She chuckled, "it doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?" she pulled away and met his eyes. "I don't want to go through that again."

"You won't have to." John promised. "I'm resigning. You and I can settle anywhere we want. We'll have an normal life." He watched a frown form on her beautiful face. She was watching him with a strange expression, both cautious and gentle at the same time. As if he were only a few steps from either exploding, or crumbling.

"What is it?" he prompted, wishing more than anything else that she would smile.

"There are… other issues, John." Miranda sighed. "How much thought have you given to the future. _Real thought_, I mean."

"I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever it is, I want you to be a part of it."

"I've never actually had a normal life, John."

"Neither have I." he replied. "If it doesn't work out, we'll find something else."

She stayed silent for a long time. John glanced out the open door at a passing group of Alliance soldiers. They were laughing and swapping tales with a squad of Turians. It should have been a happy, reassuring sight, but it sent a stinging barb of grief through him, which he fought it down.

"Hackett told me about your resignation." She said.

John's gaze snapped back to her face. "I want-"

"You're _not _doing it on my account." She told him severely.

John drew himself up, angered by the betrayal. "How are we supposed to build a life together if I'm constantly being rushed off to resolve other people's problems?"

Miranda looked at him with an expression he hadn't seen before, and one he intensely disliked: pity. She said, "I'm not sure we can build a life anyway."

John felt ice slither down his spine. He ran the statement through his head a couple of times, but there was no mistaking its meaning. The sunny afternoon world crystallized around him as he stared at her in anger, guilt, and disbelief. _Not after all of this! Please, no!_

The woman could see the effect her words were having, and when she next spoke, in was in a desperate tone, her own voice cracking. "I want to, John!" she said quickly, focusing on damage control. "I really do!"

"But?" _Christ, Garrus. I should've died on the field with you. _

"_But_?" he asked again, his voice loud and harsh. He hadn't intended it to be, but wasn't entirely sorry about it. This was Ash on horizon all over again, and a thousand times worse.

Miranda took a deep breath, keeping her own voice low and calm. "John, I'm sterile."

A few dark files from a distant past mission rose up and hit him with a grudge. He hadn't thought about the Shadow Broker's files in so long… he had known the fact, but it had been placed at the very back of his mind, hidden by the immediacy of the Reaper war. Now it rushed painfully to the forefront. He should have realized…

Miranda continued. "I don't know how to live a normal life. If you stay with me, there will be no family. No children. No stability. And you're right, you haven't run around the galaxy fixing all those problems so that you'd be stuck on a ship somewhere far from a proper home. But… I don't think I can give you that."

"The point was that whatever life I lead, you're in it." John said firmly. "If it means not settling down, I'm okay with that."

"You say that now, but what about five years from now?" she asked plaintively. He could see her resolve cracking as she spoke. "What about ten? Twenty?"

"No one lives a normal life until they do. That's no reason not to try. And no kids doesn't mean no family." John told her gently. "Besides if it were twenty happy years-"

"It _could_ be twenty wasted years, John."

"For you, I'm willing to take that risk." He said harshly, "but if _you_ think it's not worth it…" he could feel cracks spreading through him as the woman composed herself and turned away, staring out across the demolished street.

"No…" she said, shaking her head. She let out a long breath. "It is. It's worth it."

Miranda turned and walked up to him, embracing him gently. John returned the gesture, feeling relief spread through him for the second time that morning. His mouth found her ear and he whispered, "We can take things day by day. You want me to stay with the Alliance, but I didn't fight this war for them. I fought it for you, and for _us_. If children ever enter the picture at all, they're a long way off."

She nodded into his shoulder.

"Besides…" he said, "If it bothers you that much, I know a _really _good doctor. One of the smartest people I've ever met. She brought a man back from the dead once… I figure if she could do _that_, then she could probably solve any problem she set her mind to."

Miranda began to laugh.

* * *

**I've always found Miranda's relationship with Shepard to be a very interesting one (obviously). Perhaps it was just the way I played, but in many ways, she's always struck me as far more down-to-earth than him. I'd been trying to come up for a reason why the Miri romance in ME3 was so lackluster, and the reasons stated here are the ones that (to me) make the most sense for her character. It also fits with her pessimistic attitude during his last conversation with her.**

**Shepard's opinion of Cerberus matches my own. Yeah, they were evil bastards, but you have to admit, they knew how to get the job done, especially when the Alliance made sure to sit back and twiddle it's thumbs. I still hate Kai Leng and couldn't wait to see him die. But I think that if the Illusive man hadn't Husked himself, he may have actually been able to control the Reapers. He may have actually gotten the job done. I see him as a tragic and sympathetic character. More Macbeth than Iago, if any of you are familiar with Shakespeare. If not… well then GET familiar.**


	7. The Needs of the Many

The Needs of the Many

Miranda sat on the end of John's cot. She had accompanied him back into the hospital, and helped him prop himself up a his pillow, with his back against the corner wall. A nurse came by, carrying a metal tray upon which sat a spork and a plate of gummy grey stew. She set it down on his lap without saying a word, and bustled off to deliver more food to the other patients.

John picked up his spork and poked lightly at the gummy grey mess.

"That does not look very… appetizing." Miranda observed diplomatically.

"Hospital rations." John replied, carving off a sporkful. He hesitated, "Do you mind if I…?"

"If you think you can stomach it, go right ahead." She told him, eyeing his meal with a look of disgust.

He started hungrily into his meal, trying to be as polite as possible. The brunette watched him with a slight frown on her face. Her eyes were glazed over, and she began to examine the inside of the hospital, watching the doctors and nurses move about the lines of patients, feeding, checking vitals, and changing bandages.

"How long do they plan to keep you here, John?" the question came abruptly, and he made sure to swallow before answering.

"Another two weeks? Maybe three? I don't know. I'm just supposed to be resting. Why?"

She stared up at the multicolored barriers which were doing duty as windows, keeping the dust and outside air away from the patients. She sighed. "The situation down here is going to start to deteriorate very quickly. Very soon."

"What makes you say that?"

"Lack of supplies, for one thing."

"Well yes, but we aren't cut off." Shepard replied, "We have a fleet in orbit, and the mass relays. We can just go _get_ supplies when we need them…"

"Really?" she asked, "Where from? The colonies got bombed out, and may I remind you that the economic and governing hub of galactic civilization is currently full of corpses, and floating in high orbit?"

The Citadel… a giant elephant in a rapidly shrinking room. None of the races had shown any enthusiasm for the day they'd have to board and clear it. No distress signals of any kind had been sent out. Indeed there was no sign that anything awaited any unfortunate teams except death and darkness. The only teams to have landed were the squads which had picked up Shepard and Anderson. That aside, it had been left alone.

"Just because the Citadel isn't available doesn't mean the end of civilization!" John protested quietly.

"No, but the lack of any unified provisional government will certainly do the trick." She sighed. "It's going to take a long time to fix. Especially considering the fact that without it, each civilization will fall back on their own leadership. Earth got burned, Palaven got burned, Thessia got burned… the Hanar, Volus, and Elcor are on the verge of extinction. There will not be enough supplies to go around. Not enough to feed all the hungry, treat all the wounded… Each race will fall back to take care of their own. How long do you honestly think the Turians will stick around? They'll be off soon. Within a few weeks, probably. The Krogan will go with them, then the Asari. Then your alliances will disintegrate, and every species will be out for themselves."

She pursed her lips, thinking hard. "I'm glad Admiral Hackett talked to me."

"I'm not." John replied. "When I said I wanted to resign-"

"He's right though ,John." She said. "Like it or not, you are a symbol. One the galaxy desperately needs at the moment. We need you in uniform, on the Normandy, not sitting in a hospital Besides, if things get rough, you'll be much safer in orbit."

She appeared to have come to a conclusion of her own accord. She rose to her feet and walked around to the foot of his bed, pulling out the information tablet which had been placed there. She busied herself by scrolling through the information stored on the small device.

"What is that?" he asked, gesturing at the tablet.

"Your medical records." She replied. "Specifically your injuries and recovery. I'm going to take over your care. I don't trust front-line doctors not to make a mistake. Besides its long past time you were moved out of a field unit and back into a proper facility. Preferable the Normandy."

"Are you sure you want to go to the trouble?" he asked for the sake of politesse. Internally he felt relieved. The hospital had done an excellent job with meager resources. Chakwas and the Normandy's medical team had pieced him back together, but the London doctors were undeniably competent, and he knew that nnot many people would have enabled such a fast recovery. But if they'd asked John to choose between their care and Miranda's? Well… there wasn't even much of a choice to be made. On the other hand, he was not keen on being a burden to her, either. He said, "I'm fine here. I'm sure you have more important things to take care of."

She dismissed the comment outright, which was the only real answer he knew he was going to get. "Your implant trauma module had stopped working when Harbinger's blast hit you." She said, reading down the list. "They've since replaced it. Severe burns covered thirty percent of your body. You suffered soft tissue damage from the blast, and traveling unarmoured through the beam up to the citadel. No one has ever done that without an armoured transport of some kind. At least the last time, you had the sense to travel in a Mako."

"Well if that's that all…" John shrugged lightly and continued to shovel food into his mouth. He wasn't being particularly polite, but it was difficult to think about table manners when sitting on a chunk of blackened concrete in the middle of a bombed-out warzone.

"It's not all. Not even close. Extensive radiation damage. A severe concussion. Extensive bruising and damage to internal organs. Excessive blood loss. Broken ribs, one of which damned near punctured your left lung… not to mention dehydration and a gunshot wound." She set the tablet down with a certain finality, and watched him eat. "You should be dead, John. Quite frankly I've no idea what carried you through."

"If I said thoughts of you?" he said in a good-natured teasing tone.

"Don't make me gag."

John shrugged. "Well then I don't know what to tell you, Miri. Sometimes you just have to get the job done."

She watched him eat for a few minutes, her face softening. Eventually she said, "I heard about Garrus."

John's spork halted halfway up to his lips. He set it back down on the plate and she watched as he seemed to shut down. His eyes remained fixed on the grey morass, and the color seemed to have drained from his face. From her perspective, it was a worrying sight. She was not used to seeing him so thoroughly disheartened.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth." She said gently.

"It's worth quite a lot, Miranda." He told her quietly. "Thank you."

"If I had been there-"

"Then you would have died alongside him." John said harshly. "That would have been too much. I'm glad you were somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"It's your call." He said. "Either way, in retrospect, I'm glad you weren't there."

"Williams was there." Miranda said.

"And she's dead now." John only seemed to slump further. "I'm her- I _was _her commanding officer. How am I supposed to look her sister in the face?"

"You've never had to break that news before?"

"Not to the family of someone so close."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "How close, exactly?"

John stared at her, feeling slightly dumbfounded. "Seriously, Miranda?"

"You were stuck on a starship with an ex-girlfriend and several drooling admirers." She said severely. "Forgive me for being a little… curious."

"Ashley and I ended on Horizon. You were standing behind me at the time, if I recall." John said evenly. "She did a little too much damage when she called me a traitor. Too much for us to get back together. But that doesn't mean we were enemies either. And it doesn't mean she deserved what happened. As for the 'admirers', Tali ended up with Garrus…" he paused for a moment. Tali… that was another loose end. Noone had heard from her since Operation Hammer. It probably only meant one thing, but he wasn't willing to think about it. Not until he had more evidence. Until then, she was alive. He continued his rebuttal. "…And Liara has never been more than a friend. That's it. Anyway I was too busy saving the galaxy to bother with that kind of drama. What about you?"

"Me?" Miranda sat back and crossed her arms. "What do you mean?"

He frowned slightly. "Where were you? What did you do after Horizon? Where is Oriana?"

"I got Oriana to the Crucible. She's alright, by the way, working with the Quarians now, one of their colony ships. After I took care of her, I acquired my own ship and ran black ops against Cerberus Remnants. I had my own team. They've… disappeared." She sighed. "Probably for the best."

"Ex-Cerberus agents?" Shepard guessed.

Miranda nodded. "Speaking of which, have you heard from Jacob or any of the others?"

John thought for a moment, running through his internal list. "Jacob was working on the crucible project. Got involved with a scientist there. He's got a kid on the way."

"Good." Miranda said, trying to smile. "Good for him."

"The two engineers, Ken and Gabby? They're back on the Normandy. As for the others, well… Kelly was on the Citadel, helping refugees." John laughed darkly. "You know, I told her to change her name? It saved her life during the Cerberus attack. For all the good _that_ did." John rubbed his forehead. "Christ there were so many people there, Miri… Kolyat, Bailey, Michel, all the wounded and the refugees. The goddamned Council… I spent a lot of my time running around trying to get resources for C-sec. What good did that do? They're all dead anyway."

"You couldn't have known, John." She said, trying to reassure him.

"Yeah…" he said, glaring sourly into his stew. "But it didn't make sense. I should have spotted it earlier. The Citadel hadn't been attacked because the Reapers _chose _not to attack it. It was part of their plans. It always was. I've known that for years! I Should have been telling them to evacuate!"

"You can't blame yourself for ever damned dead person in the galaxy, so don't even try. And where could they have gone?" Miranda asked. "Look on the bright side, John."

"Is there one?"

Miranda nodded. "For a few precious months, a large number of people were allowed to live in peace. They had the illusion of safety, which is more than can be said for plenty of others out there."

"That's a bright side, is it?" he asked.

"No one who knew the stakes went into this expecting rainbows and butterflies at the end." Miranda told him.

John nodded.

"I'm going to get the rest of your medical records." Miranda said after a moment.

"Like what?" John nodded at the tablet. "Isn't that it?"

"Not all of it. There's still surgical notes, medication lists, dietary restrictions…" she shrugged, "Whatever they have. I want to know what I'm dealing with . You have a visitor, by the way."

John looked up to see Vega's bulky form standing at the field hospital's distant entrance.

"He's been eyeing me up for the last thirty seconds." She added in a derisive tone.

"Perhaps he's just wondering whether now is a good time to come talk to me..." John suggested lightly.

Miranda let out a light, tinkling laugh, "Oh, john… I've often wondered what it's like to live in your world of self-imposed, optimistic perennial innocence."

"He's a simple soldier, Miri." John said as James began to move towards them.

"He's a gorilla." She replied. "Noone spends that much time and effort on their biceps unless they have nothing else to offer."

"Give him a chance. He might surprise you." He certainly did me, he added internally.

They watched the lieutenant approach for another few seconds. Then Miranda rose. "I'll just go see about those medical records."

She headed for the nursing station. John noticed with, some amusement, the way James' eyes followed her every movement. It resulted in the lieutenant crashing into an empty cot, sending it skidding across the floor on squeaking wheels. The soldier's face was aflame with a look of shock, and unapologetic lust. John did his best to crush jealousy before it could take hold; the emotion was insulting to Miranda, and his relationship with her. It implied a lack of trust, which didn't exist. He also knew her taste in men rather well. If James made any overt move, she would undoubtedly turn him into a smear on the floor. Still, the soldier's blatant attraction was undeniably irritating.

"Daaaamn, Loco! Muy Rica." The way James rolled the 'R' was practically criminal. "And I thought that scale topped out at ten." he chuckled. "That's Miranda Lawson, isn't it? Scars told me a few stories…"

John gave him the Long Stare.

"Sorry Commander. And don't fret; I'll stay out of it." A look of mild disappointment crossed his features, but it was accompanied by acceptance of the facts. He grinned hopefully, "She got a sister?"

"She does actually, but you don't want to continue that line of thought, either."

"Oh don't worry," James gave him a dirty grin, "I know how to be a gentleman. I'll try to stay off her naughty list."

"Not very many people are on it, actually."

"Well that's good then."

"Is it, James? Think it through. Carefully."

The soldier frowned, then his look turned slightly more serious, and he nodded. "I know. Biotic. Vicious as hell. Knows her way around a gun. As I said, Scars told me a few stories. That's not why I'm here anyway."

"What's happened?"

"Some good news, finally." James said, trying to keep a straight face, "We found Tali. She's in bad shape, but Chakwas says she'll pull through."

Relief surged through John's system, and he slumped back onto the covers, allowing himself a triumphant smile.

James began to laugh. It was a dark laugh, born more of forlorn hope than lighthearted humor.

"What is it?"

"What happened to Tali…" James said. "I never knew Sparks had it in her." He nodded back at Miranda. "Is Legs coming?"

John nodded. "Yeah. She's going to be overseeing the rest of my recovery."

James smiled. "In that case, you're _more_ than welcome back, Commander."

* * *

**I had most of this written a while ago. It was simply a matter of piecing it together. I'm onto exam week, so this is the last I'll be posting until after next Wednesday.**

**Had to smack myself on the forehead. This chapter has been edited a little bit. I originally had James saying something absolutely horrible, and it didn't even occur to me until a few reveiwers pointed it out. Shows how dangerous a narrow focus can be.**

**Anyway it's been fixed.**


	8. Reinstatment

Reinstatement

The cramped shuttle rattled as it accelerated through the atmosphere. John gritted his teeth as he felt the g-forces pushing him into his seat, making his wounded abdomen ache. He sat back and tried to ignore the pain, glad that Miranda wasn't fussing over him like a mother hen. Discomfort was part of being wounded, and part of the healing process. Even the best anesthetics did nothing more than dull pain to a manageable level, and they were both aware that nothing could be done about it.

The Australian was seated across from him, waiting silently for them to dock with the Normandy SR-2. James was in the pilot's seat, making up for Cortez' absence. John winced again. It seemed that no matter where he turned, his thoughts always managed to find their way back to the list of his dead friends and comrades. The cold weight of Garrus' visor was heavy in his grasp.

He turned to Miranda for a distraction. The woman had been watching him intently, wearing her professional face. The 'Doctor' face. Like many of the people Shepard had grown close to over the course of the war, Miranda was almost always able to switch off when she needed to. He had to admit, he enjoyed the inner fire which always seemed to possess her at such moments. Her brows would knit together. Her lips would purse with a slight frown, Her eyes would glaze over, her mind racing furiously, unraveling whatever problem had presented itself for her consideration. In this particular case, the problem happened to be his personal health.

He said, "We're going to have to find you some proper alliance gear. That Cerberus outfit isn't going to win any popularity points with the crew."

She smiled and glanced down at her worn uniform. It was frayed, and in much worse condition than Shepard had first observed. The brilliant white had faded somewhat, turned to light grey and pink in places, with the sole exception of the small area where her cerberus patch used to be. He was amazed she was still so attached to it. During her tenure as an operative, it had been an undeniably useful item, combining the protection of an armoured suit with the practicality of a tight-fitting lab uniform and certain other added …diplomatic… benefits. It had granted her an air of mystique, and fit her personality and needs.

It didn't fit her anymore. She was a different person, and he knew that if she had kept it for any reason, it was probably through force of habit.

"I can't imagine myself wearing an alliance uniform." She told him.

"We'll find you something." He said. "Where do you plan on sleeping? My cabin is yours, if you're-"

"I am." She smiled at him gently. "Thank you. Just make sure you do a better job of cleaning up after yourself this time."

"Everyone knows it isn't a proper shirt drawer unless you can't actually get it shut." John defended.

"Well if you can't actually get it open either then it doesn't do much good as one, does it?" she replied lightly. "Perhaps you should avoid cramming it full of socks as well. Besides, your shirt drawer isn't the problem. It's your desk."

"Coffee stains add character."

They both heard James from the cockpit as he hit the radio. "SSV Normandy, this is the SR-2 shuttle. Commander Shepard requests permission to come aboard."

"Permission granted. Have him report to the bridge." Came the static-filled reply, Shepard caught Hackett's growling voice. The Admiral had been using the Normandy as a base of operations, then? A wise choice, given his more diplomatic duties. Like Shepard's name, Normandy was a household word on worlds which had never suffered the steps of human feet.

They docked a few minutes later. James tried to smooth things out, but despite his best efforts the ship jerked and shook as the claps locked down and pulled it into the docking bay. Once again, John was forced to endure the irritating ache.

They waited another two minutes for the bay to repressurize, and then Miranda helped him out of his harness. She worked silently and efficiently, and allowed James to give him a hand stepping off the shuttle and onto the docking bay floor. It was only one and a half feet difference in height, and were he at full health, he would have been able to manage it with no problems. The fact that he was forced to accept help irked him no end. But fighting any offered assistance would do no good. It would only prolong his recovery.

He thanked James and immediately set off across the bay floor, heading towards the elevator, with Miranda in tow.

"Report to CIC first, Loco!" Vega shouted after him.

* * *

The elevator door opened and John was engulfed in the sounding of cheering and clapping. A crowd had gathered around the galaxy map. Traynor was standing at her station, beaming. Joker was near her, being gently supported by EDI's artificial body. Diana Allers was there, her camera recording the entire thing. Admiral Hackett was standing next to the ramp leading up to the galaxy map, wearing a warm, genuine smile.

John felt Miranda gently slip out of the limelight. She disappeared into the shadows, leaving him by himself to confront the sudden ceremony. He blinked a couple times, for once not sure what to do with himself. Luckily Admiral Hackett didn't make him wait long.

"Commander John Shepard," Hackett began formally. "Your inspirational valor, honor, and dedication to your comrades, your duty, and the cause of humanity was kept within the very best traditions of the Alliance. You are a credit to the uniform, and an exemplary officer. And it is my deepest honor to bestow upon you the rank of Captain."

"Thank you, sir." John said, suprised. He had expected something. A medal, possibly. But... promotion?

Hackett held out his hand and John shook it firmly. The Admiral handed him the captain's rank insignia and shoulder epaulettes., then backed away and saluted. John returned it, and let the applause wash over him.

"Captain, you are hereby ordered to report to your station, and retake command of the SSV Normandy. Don't worry," he added with a smile, "I kept her safe for you."

John listened to the chuckles and replied. "I appreciate that." he stepped slowly up the ramp and turned back to Hackett. "I relieve you, sir."

"I am relieved." Hackett replied, saluting again. "Do you have anything to say to your crew?" His growling voice echoed across the CIC. "This was our victory, afterall."

John took another inventory of the crowd, but his eyes looked past all of them and found Miranda's. The woman was standing apart from the crowd, leaning against the wall and watching the proceedings with a closed expression. Every so often, a member of the crew would glance at her curiously.

He thought for a few moments, and then stepped backwards and raised his voice so that all could hear him. He stared down at them from the raised dais. "It was an honor to serve alongside all of you." he began. It was the standard opening to every denouement speech he'd ever heard. At least on this occasion he could put some honesty into the words. "Every one of you are fine soldiers and the Alliance is lucky to have you." His eyes fell on Traynor and he added, "I know not all of you asked to be here, but you've come a very long way, and for what it's worth, I'm glad you decided to ride this war out aboard the Normandy with me. I couldn't have asked for a better crew."

He took a deep breath, watching them all straighten proudly. The sight bothered him. It wasn't that he felt they didn't deserve to be proud. They did. He just didn't want them to be filled up with more pro-alliance propaganda. He wanted them to think bigger. To realize the scale of just what had happened. "But the Admiral is wrong. We didn't win this war." Quickly he turned back to Hackett and said, "Due respect, sir, but we didn't." he turned back to his confused crew members. "We _survived _it. And the only reason we made it through is because a thousand galactic civilizations before ours tried their best and failed. This is the end of a long road paved with the ruins of a thousand other civilizations."

He paused to let the statement sink in. In her dark corner, Miranda raised her eyebrows.

He continued. "They weren't any worse than us. They weren't any less ready, or less competent. They lacked the only thing we had: Intel. And they sacrificed themselves to give us that. We don't know the names of the first people to resist the Reapers. We never will. But people don't change. The likelihood is that they weren't any different than anyone standing in this room."

The CIC had gone completely quiet. He could tell that this wasn't the speech they had expected. Yet it was one of the many things which had been weighing on his mind over the past few months. Even before Earth had been attacked. Both Liara and Miranda were nodding. They understood. He knew they did. He said, "Every sentient being has hopes and dreams. Colleagues and friends, husbands and wives, parents and children. Those who came before us lost this battle. They lost everything. But in losing, they left behind signs and clues for the next to find. With each dead civilization we drew one step further to reaching this goal. This moment.

"The fact that we're standing here is their victory more than ours. Be proud you contributed to it. But you want it to mean something? Then go to your consoles, contact any friends or family you have left, and tell them everything you ever wanted to, but never did.

"You want it to last? The next time you see an alien, you buy them a drink. Talk to them. Get to know them, and let them get to know you. Krogan, Salarian, Elcor, Hanar, Volus, Quarian, Geth…" He felt the weight of Garrus' visor in his hand. "…Turian. It doesn't matter. We're all in this together now, and if you think that this is an excuse to fall back to the xenophobia of the past... The lying. The misinformation. The doubts and double-crosses... Distrust is the enemy now. And self-interest. If we let those poisons sink back in… then we never deserved this 'Victory' anyway.

"Now get to your consoles. Contact your loved ones, like I said, then get back to it people! We've got work to do! Dismissed!"

The crew drew to attention and saluted. Shepard saluted back, and turned to Admiral Hackett. He felt the weight of the Captain's badge burning a hole in his pocket.

"Good speech, Shepard." The Admiral said quietly. "Not what I was expecting to hear."

John glanced at Diana, but she had shut her camera off, and was following Joker and EDI up to the bridge. No one else was listening either. He turned back to the Admiral. "It's the truth, Sir."

"Doubts and double-crosses?" Hackett asked. "You came off as quite cynical, Shepard."

"Didn't you hear about the Beacon on Thessia? Or the Salarian double-cross?" He replied, shaking his head. "The Quarian war was stupidity on all sides, and from all angles. I think there's only one group left I have any respect for, and that's the goddamned Krogan. They were straight with us the whole time."

"…the Alliance…?" the Admiral asked, proving himself to be far more perceptive than he looked..

John met his gaze evenly and unapologetically. "I have to visit Tali." He said, making for the Elevator. Miranda fell in line just behind him, staying silent.

Hackett followed him into the elevator and waited until the door closed. Then he turned and hit the emergency stop. He faced Shepard and Miranda again. "That attitude is not going to make a you a very good poster boy, Captain."

"I know that, sir. I'll keep it to myself. If you want the rank back, take it."

"No. No matter what you say, you earned that." Hackett studied him. "But I'd never expect that attitude out of the Lion of Elysium. You_ did_ do a very good job of hiding it over the past few months."

"I had to, sir." Shepard replied honestly. "We couldn't afford anything less."

"Was it because we took away your ship?" the Admiral asked.

"Not just that. And not just the Alliance either. No one listened to me. They didn't heed my warnings. They didn't believe. Just like the council, they buried their heads in the sand." He intentionally avoided using the word 'you'. The fact was that he didn't blame Hackett. The man had done his very best in a difficult situation, and Shepard had a lot of respect for him personally. But the Alliance was more than just one man, and as a group… they had failed to live up to Shepard's expectations. Certainly to their own propaganda.

"Show some sympathy for us, Shepard. It _was_ a hard pill to swallow." Hackett told him defensively.

"Oh, I know that." John replied calmly. "They didn't want to take it, and so it got shoved down the throats of every dead civilian. Men, women, and children, Sir. One million times a day. We had three years to stop it and we did nothing."

Hackett took a step backwards. Even Miranda looked a little shocked.

John knew he was walking a dangerous line. But he'd held that anger inside for months, keeping it bottled up because the galaxy couldn't afford it. But it was out now, whether he liked it or not. "The Alliance didn't listen. The Council didn't listen. The Quarians didn't listen. We knew this was coming and we did _nothing_. Only one group had the gall to stand up from the beginning and take the Reaper threat head-on."

Hackett's eyes flickered to Miranda and her frayed uniform.

"And no," John said, reading the Admiral's expression clearly. He pressed the button to make the elevator continue its journey. "They didn't brainwash me." He let out a quiet, bitter laugh as they drew to a halt. "They didn't have to."

The doors opened and he stepped out, followed by Miranda. Hackett stayed in the Elevator, frozen in place by his own troubled thoughts.

"Sir." John said. The Admiral stared at him coldly. Shepard drew himself up into a proper, textbook salute. It was an honest gesture, and the Admiral was surprised to recognize the genuine respect for what it was.

"Despite everything, _you_ did a good job, sir." Shepard told him. "More than anyone could have expected. Thank you for carrying us through this. I'm still with you. For what that's worth."

Hackett hesitated for a moment, then straightened and returned the salute. "Thank you captain." He replied just before the doors shut.

They stood for a moment, locked deep in thoughtful silence Miranda moved past him and studied the memorial wall. Shepard joined her, noting that Ashley's name had been added, along with Garrus Vakarian's.

"You were awfully quiet." He said.

"It wasn't my argument." She had an unhappy look on her face. "You're not going to have many allies left if you let that attitude show."

"I'll keep it to myself." He said. "So will Hackett. We need each other, and he's smart enough not to go around announcing it."

"By the way, congratulations on the promotion, Captain." She said wryly.

"Thank you." He replied.

"If that's what it takes, the Alliance is going to have a major bottleneck on their hands."

John laughed.

Miranda looked amused for a moment, but sank back into her worried state. "You've changed quite a lot since you first woke up in that laboratory."

"So have you." He smirked. "Me for the worse, you for the better. What's wrong, Miranda?"

"Nothing." She said. "I just never thought I'd hear Commander Shepard speaking like that to his superior. You're clearly not the Lion of Elysium anymore."

"I can't remember what life was like before I went after Saren. I can't return to that, Miri. Too much has happened."

"You managed to hold onto your loyalties during much of the Collector mission." She reminded him.

"And then I visited the council and Anderson, and found out exactly how much that loyalty counted for."

"I know. I just…" she shook her head.

"What, are you worried I'm not the same man?"

"Oh, I _know_ you're not the same man." She smiled slightly. "I don't think I could stand you if you were. Your methods drove me up the wall, if you remember."

"I was naïve."

"No, you weren't naïve, John. You were an idealist. You believed that good could motivate people. It was an admirable thing. Just not the way I had been taught to think."

"Yeah." John stared sullenly at the wall. There were too many names on it. "And I now know what _really _motivates them: Threat of imminent death. It shouldn't have taken the Reapers to change the galaxy for the better, Miranda" He gestured at the wall. "It shouldn't have taken this. If my 'idealism' had been right, it _wouldn't_ have taken this."

She sighed. "I'm just sorry this war did so much damage. Even to those who survived it."

"Mmm." He grunted in response, chewing his lip. "Still. It's good intel. And now that I know… I can use it. I can make this change last."

Miranda's frown deepened "What are you going to do, John?"

"I'm going to lie." He told her.

* * *

**I know this one is going to ruffle some feathers, but here's my reasoning: According to the in-game dialogue choices, any paragon Shepard who destroyed the Collector base did it because he has some very strong principles. So strong that he's willing to die for them, and potentially sacrifice galactic civilization rather than betray them. **

**Think about the sheer amount of backroom bull which gets tossed at him in the third game… the Thessia Beacon, the Dalatrass's doublecross, practically EVERYTHING in the Quarian missions, Ashley/Kaiden's distrust, the Turian bomb… the council's initial decision to sacrifice earth, getting grounded on the brink of the war…**

**I could go on for pages. How could he NOT be world-weary and disillusioned with practically everything and everyone in the galaxy by the end of it. Even if he DID managed to bring them all together. I know **_**I**_** would be.**

**The only conclusion I can really draw is that any Paragon Shepard would inevitably gravitate towards a more Renegade outlook. Besides, it's an interesting character transformation.**

**Or perhaps Bioware's mishandling of that whole ending put an extra edge on my own cynicism.**

**Anyway, I thought this might as well get an update.**

**Also, if you're a Miranda fan, go read The Prodigal by Coilerfan35. It's shaping up to be a really well-written, long-lasting fic.**


	9. Tali's Story

Tali's Story

The Normandy's medbay was less crowded than when John had first woken up in it, though the cast of characters was far stranger than he had expected to see. Chakwas was there, tending busily to the Quarian's wounds. Tali's cot was at the far end, beside the A.I. core. A geth unit was seated beside it, its motionless form lending Chakwas' frenetic movements an extra sense of urgency. The next cot over was home to a Salarian engineer in red armour, fast asleep. Or drugged. One of the two. A Batarian sat against the wall beside the second cot, all four eyes were shut.

As John moved towards Tali, he found his path blocked by a Turian. The alien's armour was striking, made vivid by the angular yellow stripes contrasting against the blue basecoat. It was scratched, dented, and beaten. Indeed it could hardly be qualified as anything but scrap at that point. This Turian was a lot younger than Garrus, if the length of his fringes was any judge. Bandages covered his left arm. He also stank of Turian sweat. John recognized the smell. He had been around Garrus during post-op clean-up, and knew the scent rather well. This Turian looked bruised, battered, and exhausted. Not to mention malnourished, but his eyes were alert and respectful.

"Tolvak Arkan." He reported. "N7 Special Operations. It's an honor to meet you in person, sir. You're Tali'Zorah's commanding officer?"

"I am." John affirmed. "I've come to visit her." He glanced past the commando, trying to make out how badly she had been hurt.

The Turian didn't seem to pick up on the hint. He said, "She deserves a commendation, Sir."

"I'm sure she does." John said, trying to find a way to politely disengage himself Then he remembered just how much value the Turian culture placed on acts of valor. This particular commando was just trying to give the Quarian her due respect.

He relented. "What happened to her?"

"She saved my unit." The Turian paused. "Well…" he added, "Not all of it. But we were assigned to spearhead the southern assault on the Beam. A Ravager hit our Mako. She was repairing it when that destroyer opened up and raked our column."

"Tali saved you?"

"Yessir. Saw it coming. Pulled open some panel and adjusted the Mako's shields. Boosted it by overclocking our engine. Emptied the fuel cell and left us stranded, but we survived. We're the only ones who did."

"Left you stranded in the middle of Reaper-occupied territory, with a destroyer close enough to finish you off?"

"Yeah…" the Turian said awkwardly. "Look, she had about nine seconds to prep. Barely enough time to think. I don't know how she even knew about that trick. It's a piece of human tech, after all."

"The M35?" John guessed.

The Turian nodded, his gaze drawn down to Garrus' Kuwashii visor. His eyes snapped back up to Shepard's face, and John knew he had recognized the battered piece of equipment, both as a piece of Turian armour, and a keepsake from a close friend, and fallen comrade. John watched as the Turian reevaluated both the Captain, and the Quarian.

"She spent eight months hunting Geth with me, and repairing an M35 Mako repeatedly. Quite often in the middle of battle." Shepard told him. "She knows that vehicle better than anyone else I could name. What happened after she saved you from the Reaper?"

"We ended up running before it could take a second shot. Trapped inside a sub-basement for eleven days with only emergency dextro-rations. I'm pretty sure she was refusing to eat half her share. Trying to make it last longer for both of us..."

John nodded. That sounded like Tali. Ever generous, even when it cost her. He asked, "Didn't you ever try to make it out?"

"Once. On the ninth day. Marauders drove us back down and after that we were fighting for our lives. Had nothing left but omniblades and combat drones by the time the Krogan rolled in." He poked a thumb back at the sleeping Salarian. "Well… and Tedril's incineration blasts. And that Geth soldier…"

"What about radios?"

"Too much interference. Partly proximity to the beam, partly just the sheer amount of rubble above us." The Turian shook his head. "She also said she didn't want to risk more lives."

John smiled sadly. "The Krogan saved you?"

"Yeah…" the Turian said thoughtfully. "We were too tired to even move by the time they came. She had been shot. I don't think she would have survived except that some Urdnot clan Chieftain was walking by our wing and happened to recognize her. Sent us straight up here… Saved by Krogan. Never thought I'd ever admit that one. Never thought much of Quarians either." He glanced back at Tali. "…until now."

Despite John found himself liking the Turian. Or perhaps it was just a sense of camaraderie left over by his friendship with Garrus.

"How are your injuries?" he asked.

"Ours aren't too bad. We just need a day or two of rest." The Turian said.

Shepard nodded. "Get your team cleaned up. He ordered. "The Normandy's showers are at your disposal. We have an armory in the cargo bay. You can repair your gear there. Report to Lieutenant Vega. There's food in the cafeteria. If you want to sleep, use the starboard observation room. I want your team fallen in in the cargo bay at eleven hundred hours tomorrow. Full kit. Be prepped to ship back to the Turian fleet for reassignment. I'll put in a personal recommendation in to the Primarch for R&R."

The Turian saluted again. "Thank you, sir." He moved aside and woke up his two team members. The Batarian protested mildly, but was soon on his feet, ready to move.

"One more thing, sir." The Turian reported as the other two aliens filed out. "That Geth is inside her suit right now. Trying to… I dunno. Fix her. Or something. Damned thing said it could help her out after she got shot. Keep her from getting sick. I wasn't in a position to argue. None of us were."

Shepard waited for them to leave, and then gingerly approached Tali's cot. Chakwas movements, which has seemed so frantic at first, had grown considerably more calm. She was tending to a suit puncture in the Quarian's abdomen. Yet she took the time to stop him and direct him towards the sink.

"You're not getting any closer to her until you've washed your hands."

John obeyed, scrubbing his hands and arms thoroughly until they were as clean as he could make them. Then he approached Tali's bed.

"She's alright, Shepard." The doctor assured him. "In better shape than you were when you were brought in."

"Will she live?" John asked, leaning over the cot. He couldn't see any light underneath her purple faceplate, which was worrying. Her eyes were probably closed, but he couldn't help feeling worried.

"She will." Chakwas affirmed.

John turned to the immobile Geth unit. He took a moment to rearrange his brain. Talking to Geth was a difficult feat when one was not prepared. One had to be simplistic. Literal, and above all, not consider the unit as an individual. The Geth were one.

"Geth." He spoke firmly and clearly to get its attention.

The single glowing 'eye' moved up a fraction to meet his gaze. "Acknowledged: Shepard-Commander." It said. Its voice was not like Legion's had been. This platform's voice was higher in register, and possessed a harsh electronic buzz to it. It was otherwise a completely unremarkable platform. No extra colors or anything to differentiate it. Just dark metal and the glowing optical sensor. John had fought and killed hundreds just like it.

He said, "What goal is the platform in front of me trying to accomplish?"

"This platform is devoting all runtimes to assisting creator Tali'Zorah's recovery. We are utilizing her cybernetic augmentations to supplement her immune system. We are preventing infection." The lack of movement was uncanny. Even during Legion's most robotic moments, the various flaps around its optical sensor were in constant motion. This platform was absolutely still unless necessity decreed otherwise.

"It's saved her life, Captain." Chakwas replied.

"Thank you." John said.

The Geth didn't respond at all.

John sighed. "Can this platform still accomplish this task from somewhere else in the room? I'd like to speak to my friend."

Still no motion. Then it jerked to life and rose slowly to its feet. It moved straight forward, forcing him to back out of the way, and kept walking until it was standing against the far wall of the medical bay. Its ocular light threw strange geometric shadows and colors onto the polished white surface. It stayed there, staring at the wall, immobile.

"Not exactly Legion, is it Captain?" Chakwas said wryly.

John grinned at her and slid into the chair beside Tali. He watched the young Quarian for a little while, letting Chakwas fuss over re-dressing and quarantining the suit's rupture.

"She may not be the most cogent conversationalist on board." Chakwas informed him quietly. "Not until the meds have worn off."

"Thanks, Doc." John slipped his hand into the quarian's and gave her a gentle squeeze.

She stirred slightly, the two bright eyes appearing behind her purple mask. She blinked a couple times and rolled her head to the side to look at him. "Shepard…" she slurred. "Hi…"

"You're sounding very slow today Tali." He joked. "You haven't been using that emergency induction port again, have you?"

"It feels like that…" she replied wearily. There wasn't all that much strength in her voice, and it was painful to see her caught in such a state. "I got shot."

"Saving a squad from the Reapers." John said. "I thought I had a monopoly on heroics."

"Are they okay?"

"Yes. Tired and bruised. But they're walking."

"Good." She breathed deeply, sinking monetarily into a sleeping state. She came back a few moments later and looked at him again. "They said there's a Geth in my suit."

"It's boosting your immune system." He replied.

"There's a Geth in my suit…" she mumbled, half to herself.

"There's a fly in my soup." John replied, the old joke floating up from the pile of debris at the bottom of his memory.

The young woman made a noise which might have signaled amusement. "…What are you talking about?"

"An old joke. Waiter, waiter, there's a fly in my soup." Shepard said. "And the waiter replies: not so loud sir, or everyone will want one."

"That's stupid."

" I know."

They lapsed into silence.

"Is it over?"

"Yes. The Reapers are gone." Shepard told her. "It's over."

"Is everyone alright?"

"Ash is dead." Shepard told her. "And…" he suddenly found himself choking up. He couldn't say it. Instead he carefully closed her hand around Garrus' visor. She let it rest on her chest in much the same way he had when James had presented it to him.

"Oh… Keelah…" She breathed. Her voice was unsteady. She let go of the visor and grabbed his hand again, shaking with suppressed tears. After a few vain attempts to calm herself down, she gave up and let it all out.

Despite himself, John did too.

* * *

**A short follow-up chapter. **

**I love the ME3 multiplayer, and decided to insert one or two of my characters into the story. I understand there's an entire fic out there devoted to N7 Spec. Ops. stories and characters, and that's really cool. If there's a demand, I might put out one or two shorts about the N7 spec. Ops.. But the missions will have to be more interesting than the multiplayer ones. Combat for combat's sake is boring.**

**That Turian is actually my go-to character for playing multiplayer. If anyone wants to play a game or two, send me a PM. We'll exchange Origin I.D.'s.**

**I know I have a bit of a reputation as a Tali basher. Perhaps it's rightly earned. And it's true that I would never grant her the same combat effectiveness as say… Grunt, or Garrus. But she does have her skills, and her uses. THIS is the sort of thing I was expecting to see at the end of the game. Each character showing what they've learned and putting their strengths to the best use possible.**


	10. Reflections

Reflections

Miranda watched as Shepard headed to the infirmary. From what she could see through the windows, the room was occupied by a group of varied alien soldiers including a Geth and Batarian. An unusual combination to say the least. She made a mental note to check in with Chakwas at some point in the future. Miranda had a lot of respect for the aged doctor, who had proven herself beyond competent on multiple occasions. Miranda was looking forward to working with her again. But that would have to wait. Right now, other issues needed to be dealt with.

She turned left and headed down the port side of the ship, towards the bow and the entrance to her old office. She was not a fan of the subdued lighting. The Alliance were clearly intent on giving their marines eye strain, and it deadened the mood of the entire ship, making it feel like a crypt.

Her office door slid open as smoothly as it ever had, revealing the utterly unfamiliar interior. Liara was standing in front of a giant wall of monitors, typing at a small computer. Miranda took a step backwards as glowing white VI drone drifted up and scanned her.

"Unfamiliar presence detected, Miss T'soni. Would you like me to inform security."

"No. Thank you, Glyph." The Asari answered. "Hello Miranda." The greeting sounded warm enough, though she didn't look away from her console. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise." Miranda replied, staring at the enormous bank of monitors. "I can't say I like what you've done with my office…"

"My apologies." Liara said, glancing along the length of the room. The bed still lay at the far end, but the walls had been removed, as had Miranda's old desk. In their place was a vast array of computers and other electronics.

"I needed the space." The Asari said, "This room was large enough and…unoccupied. If it makes you any better, John looked very crestfallen the first time he walked in here."

"Did he"

"I think he was really hoping he'd be able to reassemble his old crew." The Asari told her, typing furiously on her keyboard. "I know you were after your sister, but it would have done him a lot of good had you been here."

"Well I'm here now…" Miranda said, a shade coldly.

"Yes you are." Liara said. "And what was it you required? Forgive me, but I'm rather busy. Not that I wouldn't love to talk, of course, but…not at this very moment."

"I'm here because…" Miranda hesitated. Her cheeks flushed, but she plunged onwards. "Because I need a job. I know how rumour spreads, and how things work on starships, and I refuse to be solely defined as John Shepard's girlfriend. I came here to take over his recovery, but that isn't a full-time occupation, and what happens after he's recovered? You're the executive officer, and I was hoping you could find a place…"

"I'm not, actually." Liara said. "The Normandy has no official XO. I'm just using the office."

"No executive officer?" Miranda frowned. "The Alliance just went along with it? They're usually very strict about their command layers."

"Garrus and I would take over whenever John needed a break." Liara tapped her Omnitool and the door slid shut, sealing the two women in together. Miranda moved further into the Asari's office and leaned against a warm server bank.

The Asari glanced conspiratorially at the closed door. "Truthfully, and I would never say this in front of the crew, I don't think John Shepard considers this to be an Alliance ship. Admiral Hackett would say otherwise of course, but Shepard is a council Spectre, and he can bend the rules any way he pleases. We have no executive officer."

"Why?"

"Perhaps we were in too much of a hurry for him to bother filling out a full roster. Perhaps he had enough people second-guessing him outside this ship." The Asari smiled. "Perhaps he kept the post open hoping you would fill it…"

"Probably a combination of all three." Miranda observed quietly.

Liara nodded. "I think XO would be an excellent fit for you, and I think that Shepard would back you. Your experience would be of great benefit to him, to the mission, and to the crew… provided you keep your views on the alliance to yourself."

"My views-"

"Are justifiable, and you have every right to hold them." The Asari replied smoothly. "But you're dealing with Alliance navy personnel. People cut from the cloth of Ashley Williams, and David Anderson. Arrogance, especially towards the Alliance, would be disastrous. Your Cerberus background is a black mark from the start. John would defend you, of course, but he would risk his own authority doing it."

"You have advice?" Miranda asked.

For the first time since their conversation had begun, Liara actually stepped away from her terminal to face her guest in full. She was frowning, though clearly amused. "The first time I ever worked with you, you would have refused to take any advice. Given or not."

"A lot has changed." The former Operative told her.

"Clearly." Liara scratched her forehead, thinking hard. "John is soft on his crew."

"I know."

"We needed that during the Reaper war." The Asari elaborated. "It helped morale no end to ease up on regulations a little. People knew how to do their jobs, and they knew said jobs needed to be done. Keeping the hard line would only have stressed them out more.

"But they've gotten too comfortable. Study up on your alliance regulations and take a hard line. Whether or not you want to keep quiet about your background is your decision. It might be useful to talk to Admiral Hackett and have a rank assigned. I have no doubt he'd fast track you, given your experience, and the reality of our situation."

Deadpanned, Liara added "Also be warned, you may have to provide character references. They only want the best."

"Well I once worked with Commander Shepard on a mission of vital importance to the preservation of our species.." Miranda replied with a slight smile. "_He_ seemed satisfied with my performance."

"That should about do it." Liara replied, matching Miranda's smile with one of her own. "Just try not to phrase it quite that way. At least not in front of joker."

* * *

Miranda stepped out of Shepard's bathroom and grabbed a towel to dry herself off. She had done what she could with her hair. It was mostly dry, but his blow-dryer really wasn't suited to her extravagant brunette locks. As it was, her hair was slightly damp, but passable, and she was too tired to do anything more with it. Moving John had been a taxing endeavor and she was glad the day was winding to a close.

She gathered his robe around herself and took a seat in the chair beside his bed, not quite tired enough to sleep yet. Shepard was already in there, staring up through the skylight. He was sitting upright, propped up against the headboard. His expression was gloomy and meditative. He emerged from his remembrances long enough to give her a gentle smile. "I was thinking about the Citadel." He said. "Trying to piece together what happened after I got to the beam."

"You don't remember?"

"Oh, I remember." He muttered angrily. His eyes glazed over again. "It just doesn't make sense."

"What happened?"

"We ran into the Illusive Man first." He said.

"We?" she asked sharply, walking over and taking a seat on the chair beside his bed.

"Anderson and I." he sighed, staring in to space, his eyes glazed over.

A pregnant silence fell upon the room. Miranda cleared her throat nervously. "And what was _he _like, John?"

"Are you sure you want to hear it?" Shepard asked. Miranda had spent her entire adult life under the tutelage of the Illusive Man. There was no way she wouldn't be affected by news of his passing. He had been a father figure to her. A mentor. Everything to her that David Anderson had been to Shepard. Everything and more.

John had wondered in the early days whether or not there hadn't been a physical aspect to their relationship. He suspected it. It made sense considering what little he actually knew of her past. But he wasn't about to ask her. It didn't particularly bother him, either. That chapter of her life, had it ever been one, was closed and had been for some time.

"The worst." She replied heavily. "I'm not made of glass."

"He had implanted himself with Reaper tech." John said. "he was… half husk. Not even really human anymore. Indoctrinated. Could barely think for himself."

She stared thoughtfully at the fishtank. "Why would he do that? When I worked for him, he knew enough to keep all reaper tech away from Chronos station. He didn't want to risk the nerve center of Cerberus being indoctrinated."

"Well he changed."

"Yes he did. He had boundaries once, you know. Standards. Ten years ago he kept a hard line. He'd cross it sometimes. Frequently, even. But always for justifiable reasons. And he'd always have safeguards in place to make sure he didn't go too far, or lose sight of the original objectives."

"He came back at the end." John said. "We had to talk him out of killing us. Remind him of what his original goals were. Show him just how out of touch he had become."

"Controlling the reapers was the wrong move." She said firmly. "The old Cerberus would have regarded them as a threat, and done our best to put them down."

"I saw some videos on Chronos Station…" John said quietly. "About Project Lazarus, and setting things up for my return."

"Mmmhmm?"

"Miranda?"

She looked at him.

"How much of it was a lie?" he inquired. "Everyone was relatively friendly. They all sounded… genuine. How much of it was a lie? How much was covered up?"

"Honestly?" she asked, "Nearly all of it. Everyone had been given strict orders to wear a smile. Jacob was honest with you. Crewman Rolston never actually had a family. Kelly Chambers was actually…" She trailed off awkwardly.

"Yes?" he asked grimly.

"She was one of our more… subtle agents. Specialized in political espionage. Specifically the Honeytrap."

"Ah."

Miranda snorted. "The poor woman thought she was actually getting somewhere when you invited her up to dinner."

John frowned slightly. "I'm pretty sure you and I kissed a few days later."

"Yes." Miranda smiled. "That kind of put an end to her plans."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Miranda, but I'm surprised he didn't put you in charge of… that."

"Would you honestly have trusted me at all if I'd made any real moves towards it?" Miranda demanded. "You would have seen right through me. I'm actually amazed you trusted me enough to make a move yourself."

"I didn't really trust you." John confessed. "Not really. Not until the Collector base."

Miranda frowned. "Then why were you…?"

"Flirting with you was like… tap-dancing down the edge of a razorblade." Shepard said carefully. "One that got sharper and sharper the further you went. I figured eventually I was going to get cut but I couldn't stop. I wanted to see how far you'd let me take it. And how bad the damage would be when it eventually happened…but it never did, and here we are."

"Here we are." She agreed, watching him carefully. "John, you should know that by the end of that mission, every single member of the crew was on your side. We respected you. We learned the hard way just how much aliens had to offer… and that we didn't always have to take the hard line to get what we needed. You opened up a lot of eyes. Including mine."

"I wish I could have opened the Illusive Man's." John shook his head. "He would have been one of my most useful allies."

"How did he die, exactly?"

"Suicide. He realized he had been indoctrinated and damaged beyond repair." John said heavily. "His last act was to clear the way and let Anderson and I do our jobs."

Miranda let out a long sigh. "At least he ended it himself…"

"He had enough control." Shepard affirmed. "He chose his own end. Not many people in this universe have the willpower to fight Reaper indoctrination. I respect him for that. I'm just sorry it ended that way. He would have been… useful."

She smiled slightly. "I don't think he could ask for higher praise than that. Not from Captain Shepard."

John nodded. "After he died, I thought that was the end of it. I wish you could have seen it, Miranda. We were sitting there at the very base of the Citadel. Earth was right in front of us. It was beautiful."

"I'm sure it was."

"Anderson died there. He'd taken a bullet in his chest and god knows what else…"

"My condolences."

"I'm not all that sad about it, honestly." John told her. "He died honorably enough. Calmly enough. And he died thinking the Crucible was going to fire. Thinking that we'd won. It was a good death. But then the crucible didn't fire." John grimaced. "That's where it all goes foggy. I remember reaching for the console…"

He died away into silence, scouring his own memory for the missing pieces, and glaring into space.

"Rumors say you talked the Reapers into leaving us alone…" she prompted after a few minutes. She had to admit, she was somewhat apprehensive about hearing the truth of the matter, but Shepard needed a confidant, and Garrus was no longer around. She rose to her feet and discarded her robe, slipping in between the sheets to rest beside him.

"I talked to their creator." He murmured, staring hard at the fishtank. "The Reapers are run from an advanced V.I. program on the citadel…"

"That makes sense, actually. It might explain the keepers' behavior."

"I know. But… Christ,. Miranda, it took the form of the kid!"

She frowned. "What kid?"

John opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, staring at her. "There was… a kid. Back on earth when the Normandy escaped. He lived in the building below mine. Spent his free time in the yard flying a model ship around." Shepard's voice had gone quiet, and he had a pained expression. "I found him hiding in a vent during our escape from earth. Last thing I saw was his evac shuttle getting blown up by a destroyer. Then four months later I wake up on a platform in the crucible and the damned thing is walking up to me. It looked like him."

Miranda tried to think of something comforting to say. Were she Tali, or Liara, she'd have the perfect response, but Miranda had never been very good at comforting others. She decided not to speak at all and instead simply rested her head against his shoulder. He quietly returned the gesture.

"So what did you say to it?" she asked.

"Not much." The Spectre admitted. "I was pretty beaten up. It did most of the talking. I found out why the Reapers exist in the first place. They were created to prevent synthetics from destroying organics."

She took a moment to mull this over. "How, exactly?"

"Every fifty-thousand years they harvest any civilizations advanced enough to create A.I."

"That's…that's stupid." She said.

"I know."

"I mean it!" she said, her indignation building, "That's a short-term, band-aid solution to problem which doesn't even exist, if empirical evidence is to be accepted!"

"Yeah…" said John awkwardly. "…the empirical evidence being EDI and the Geth?"

"Of course." Miranda snapped, "And I assume the Reapers themselves haven't yet risen up against _their_ creator?"

John chuckled. "I hadn't even thought of _that_."

"It's a logical fallacy." She explained angrily. "An appeal to probability extending into an illicit negative. Synthetics have killed organics therefore all synthetics _will_ kill organics. That's the appeal to probability. Just because it happened to him, doesn't mean it will inevitably happen to everyone else."

"And the illicit negative?"

"Organics will create synthetic life. Said synthetic life will destroy all organics. Therefore destroying organics first is the only thing preventing the created synthetic life from destroying all organics. It's wrong because we _know_ one of his initial premises contains an appeal to probability. Destroying organics first is _not _the only thing preventing synthetic life from destroying all organics. Not in all cases. Not in this one. An illicit negative. How could anyone smart enough to create a self-sustaining system like the Reaper Cycle not see that?"

This was met by an awkward silence as John tried to work his way through the argument. He wasn't a stupid man by any means, but the speed at which she'd thrown out the argument had left him reeling. She continued ranting, failing to notice his confusion. "Anyway, even if he _were_ right, you don't fix a hole in the goddamned roof by simply putting down buckets wherever the water's pouring through!"

"I know."

"I mean, sure, you'll have a dry floor at the end of the day, but it's so much more effective to simply tackle the problem directly! The problem here is apparently synthetics. If they'd wiped out the Geth four or five years ago, no one would have batted an eye! In fact we probably would have thanked them."

"I know, Miri."

She chewed her lip furiously, brow creased as she thought the problem through. "God, you wouldn't even have to kill them! The Reapers were clearly capable of reprogramming them! Wouldn't it have been simpler just to slip in a piece of code which said: Do Not Kill Organics? Then they could come and check every so often to make sure it was still there, and still active. And why didn't they just tell us the truth? We know how powerful they are. They could have simply rolled in and told us not to experiment with synthetic life. We would have been forced to obey. Any race which disobeyed would get wiped out. It's harsh, but not nearly as harsh as the Reaper cycle."

"Preaching to the choir, Miranda."

"I just wish the catalyst had worked…" she said, "I wish it had just destroyed them…"

"It told me outright that I had the option to destroy them." He replied. "To simply shut them all down."

"Why would they offer you that solution?" she almost wailed in frustration. "A species apparently obsessed with the preservation of organic life, and by extension, their own cycle? Why would they offer you that?" She hesitated for a split second and added, "_And why didn't you take it_?"

"It would have destroyed the mass relays. All of them."

She fell into a deathly silence, considering the ramifications.

"The victory fleet would have been stranded here." Shepard said hollowly. "I'm not even sure there's enough supplies for the people _on earth_ to take care of themselves, never mind hordes of hungry aliens…"

"Galactic civilization destroyed." She said, thinking the results through. "Billions of people all over the galaxy stranded without supplies…never to see their families again. That's if anyone survived the relay's explosion." she grinned teasingly, "John Shepard: Second worst war criminal in Galactic History."

"Second?"

"The first being whoever created the Reapers in the first place." She replied sourly.

"I might have picked it." John said, "But I didn't know if you were in the system. And I didn't want to cut either one of us off from the rest of the galaxy…"

She placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him to the side to give him a tender kiss. She laid her head on his shoulder, and they stared up through the skylight above his bed, watching the green light trails the Normandy created as it soared through space.

"I was in the system." She said quietly. "But my sister wasn't. She's on Rannoch right now. Left Hackett with a few of the crucible's scientists." she paused, "Have you told Hackett any of this?"

"No."

"What did you tell him?"

"I made up something about chaos and control." John sighed. "I can't tell him the truth. I'm not even sure he'd believe me. You're the only one. And EDI is listening in, I suppose."

Miranda propped herself up on an elbow. "EDI?"

There was no response.

"EDI?"

"EDI?" John echoed her, forcing himself to rise up further from his reclined position. The move caused his entire chest to ache horribly.

Miranda slipped out of the bed and walked, naked, across the floor. Shepard watched her ascend the short steps up to the AI's manual interface console, her soft curves accented by the light of the fishtank. She reached down and pressed the intercom button. "EDI?"

"Yes, Miss Lawson?" the AI replied, the blue holographic orb appearing in the shallow, closeted space, lighting up Miranda's face and upper body.

"You weren't responding."

"I shut off my sensors. I've learned much about human behavior. I felt that you and Shepard deserved some privacy. If it were Jeff and I, I would have desired the same thing." EDI's voice echoed through the loft. "If you wish to reach me, I can hear you in the elevator, or you can simply access my console."

"Oh." John could hear the surprise in Miranda's voice. "Thank you. We appreciate the thought."

"I can resume monitoring Captain Shepard's cabin if…" EDI began.

"No, that's alright. Thank you. Have a good night, EDI."

"You too Miss Lawson. Captain Shepard, congratulations on the promotion."

"Thank you EDI." John called out.

Miranda shut the console down and stepped backwards thoughtfully. She took a few reflective steps back towards the bed and halted at the top of the steps, arms folded. They smiled at each other.

"Damned A.I.!" she cursed sardonically, shaking her head.

"I know," he responded with flamboyant sarcasm. "I don't know why we put up with them. We really ought to wipe out organic life to make sure we won't have to bother with them…"

"There was another topic I wanted to ask you about…" she said, descending the steps and making her way back to the bed.

"Yeah?" he asked, sliding himself back down to the prone position.

"Well… as I understand it, the Normandy has no Executive Officer."

"She doesn't." Shepard raised an eyebrow and gave her an audacious smirk. "You interested."

"If the position is open, Commander." She purred, slipping back under the sheets.

Shepard sighed. "The truth is that I could use the help." He grinned at her. "I can't imagine having to file all those reports myself."

"Well, thank you for that." She replied, "You could be a little less snide."

"Sorry. I would really appreciate the help, though." He shook his head and readjusted his position so that he was lying flat out on the bed. "Everything that happened in the past few months was touch and go. We hit the ground running and just kept picking up speed. Nothing we did followed any regulations. There were no written reports, no real rules. Just reactions. Liara and Garrus and Ash would take up the slack whenever I needed a rest."

"Whenever you worked yourself to the point of exhaustion, you mean."

John nodded. He wrapped a hand around her waist and shut his eyes. He felt her slide up to him, shifting her hips slightly to get comfortable. Sleep was catching up to him, he knew. Slowly but surely. "The Normandy's mine, Miranda. And after all she's been through, I can't imagine just handing that position to some random Alliance officer. Not when you're available."

"So that's a 'yes' then?"

"Of course it's a yes. We'll have to get you an alliance uniform." He said again, a shade mournful.

"Oh, I have no doubt we could pull out the old one sometimes… for old time's sake." She offered.

* * *

**This is actually going much faster than I thought it would. I haven't had it this easy since Modus Operandi.  
**


	11. A New Line of Work

A new line of work

Miranda set her tray down at a corner of the larger mess table. She made a point of ignoring the two young navymen at the other end, who were mysteriously engrossed in their food whenever she glanced in their direction, and watching her at every other point in time. They knew who she was; she'd heard them whispering her name to one another as she was filling her tray. But the looks weren't leering or wanton at all. Not what she'd expected. Instead, they were cautious and respectful. Perhaps a few stories had been told. As she ate, she wondered how much they knew.

The food was worse than she had expected. Indeed it hardly qualified as food at all. Miranda would have called it 'rations'. Which she supposed it was. But she had found something that tasted passably like porridge, and was in the process of forcing it down. She had to admit, it was better than the near starvation diet she'd endured while on the run.

She had been a little spoiled by the citadel supplies John had picked up during the Collector mission. Not to mention Mess Sergeant Gardner's skillful cooking. She wondered what had become of the man. The last she'd heard, he had been reassigned to the Cerberus base on Sanctum.

A tray clattered down opposite her and she looked up to see Doctor Chakwas smiling down at her. She glanced over her shoulder at the medbay, and back up at the doctor, who was pulling up a chair.

"Miranda Lawson." Chakwas said. "I'm glad to see you survived this ordeal." She held out her hand and Miranda shook it, letting a smile creep onto her own features.

"And you." She answered. "I heard you'd been assigned to medical research at Huerta…"

"Shepard met me there shortly after the invasion began." The doctor replied. "He asked if I wanted to be here. Of course I said yes."

She took a seat and they started into the food.

"So how is Oriana?"

Miranda looked up at her, shocked and suspicious. "She's… she's doing well, as far as I know. How did you…?"

"I split another bottle of Serrice Ice brandy with Commander Shepard- Excuse me, _Captain_ Shepard, shortly after Rannoch." Chakwas explained, taking a drink from her glass, "He let slip a thing or two. Please don't be angry with him. He was very worried about you, and needed an outlet other than poor Garrus. I kept quiet about it."

"I'm not angry. I'm just…" Miranda shook her head. "Oriana is safe. I suppose actually sharing my life with people is something I'm going to have to get used to."

The Doctor smiled. "It's a very good thing to do, believe me. After you get used to it, I think you'll find yourself a lot happier. A wise man once said no man is an island entire of itself."

"Be thine own palace lest the world be thy jail."

"Who said that?" Chakwas asked.

"The very same man." Miranda answered. "He also said that wickedness is not much worse than indiscretion."

"You have a very well-rounded education." Chakwas said.

"Actually I do. But I heard _that _one from an arms dealer who thought he was selling weapons to Batarian slavers." Miranda told her.

"You're not a Batarian."

"No, I was one of their young innocent sales associates." She replied evenly. "Or so he thought, the idiot.

"How did these Batarians respond?"

"They went ahead and attacked Elysium two months later regardless. But thanks to Cerberus, John didn't have had to deal with two-hundred prototype M-400 Cain heavy weapons. Plus a nearly unlimited supply of ammunition." Miranda sat back and smiled, remembering the look on the pathetic dealer's face when he'd found out who she actually was. It wasn't her proudest mission. After all, Cerberus hadn't managed to stop the Skyllian Blitz. But they had managed to reduce the threat to a manageable level. Manageable for a younger John Shepard, at least.

Chakwas was watching her with a sorrowful expression.

"What?"

"I'm just thinking of how much you must have missed in your life, Miranda." The Doctor said quietly. "How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Thirty five." She answered, feeling the urge to clamp down. It was second nature at this point, to _not_ share any details. Especially not her age, and she was feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"That's ragic." Chakwas told her mournfully. "You've missed the very best years of your life."

Miranda's mouth shot open to deliver a sharp retort, but she stopped herself. Wasn't that why she was so protective of her sister after all? So that Oriana could have what she never did? Everything she'd given up? Until now, at least…

"I'm damned proud of the work I've done." She said. "I've made some real contributions to humanity and galactic civilization."

"And…?" Chakwas asked delicately.

"And… and I'm catching up." She replied, staring into her meal. "Everything with John is… doing well."

"Which brings us back to you being on the Normandy." The Doctor said brightly. "Are you planning on staying?"

Miranda glanced at the navymen across the table, but they had been caught up in their own conversation. She leaned forward anyway, keeping her voice low. "I've asked John if he'd accept me as executive officer."

Chakwas gave this due consideration. "I approve." She decided eventually. "Just be sure you watch-"

"My attitude? Liara gave me the same advice." Miranda shook her head. "I plan to follow it. I intend to earn my keep here."

"We'll be glad to have you." Chakwas told her. "I know both of you are perfectly capable of keeping a wall between business and personal. Oh, by the way, when you have a moment, stop by the med-bay. I have a feeling Tali would like to say a few words to you."

Miranda frowned. She had never quite gotten along with the Quarian, though she had enormous respect for Tali'Zorah's technical skills. They had never managed to see things eye to eye. Perhaps some of fault did lie with Miranda, but neither of them had made the effort to overcome their differences. "Nothing too bad, I hope?"

Chakwas smiled. "You'd better see for yourself. No hurry, of course. The fewer people around her, the less her chances of infection are."

* * *

Miranda opened the door to the Normandy's bridge.

"Commander." She heard Joker greet her. She shook her head. To her curiosity, his mobile assistance mech was sitting stock still in the copilot's seat She had noticed it during John's makeshift promotion ceremony, and grown immediately suspicious. While it seemed perfectly practical for a VI shell, wouldn't an exo-suit have served his needs better?

Her mouth twitched into a sardonic smile as she entertained a few cynical thoughts on what exact needs the pilot's needs were. Obviously they were ones that required his 'mobility assistance mech possess a pair of breasts, humanoid hands, and a mouth.

Joker's seat swiveled slowly. He caught sight of her and his eyes widened. "Miranda!"

"Hello Mister Moreau." She said. She wasn't entirely sure what had possessed her to visit the bridge. The ship had changed so much, and she was just happy to see a familiar face, albeit not always an entirely friendly one.

They stared at each other, caught in an awkward moment, unsure of what to say or do. Joker broke the silence first. "Look, for what it's worth, I wanted to thank you. For being there. For Shepard. When he needed it."

Miranda frowned. She wasn't entirely sure whether or not he was being sarcastic. After all, she had made a specific effort _not _to be there. Remembering her own cowardice was burning her on the inside, which made Joker's genuine-sounding response baffling. She had assumed the entire crew would have felt the same way she did. She had been nervous, stepping back aboard the ship, waiting for the hammer to drop. But it hadn't, and apparently no one had thought of it the same way. It was better than she deserved. She asked, "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Well I mean you have half of Cerberus chasing you and you still found time to go to the citadel and meet up with him."

"Not very many times." She replied, teeth clenched.

"Look, he was down on the ground when the Asari lost Thessia." The pilot told her. "Kai Leng showed up and took our last hope. We lost everything, or thought we had. And I watched Shepard sink into a… a big black hole. You know? He got all quiet and angry and moody…" he shrugged, "Almost as bad as Garrus. I tried to cheer him up, but that didn't work out so well."

"And?"

"And then he got a message from you telling him to go to the citadel." Joker grinned. "He came back happy as a clam."

The door behind her opened, and she turned to see Shepard striding through in his easy gait. Just for a moment, the two of them shared expressions of sober contemplation, and Miranda knew they were both thinking of exactly the same thing: their previous night's conversation. Then the moment passed, and he smiled.

"Captain," Joker said as Shepard approached the bridge. "Congratulations on the promotion! If that's what it takes to get above Commander, then Hackett's going to have a bottleneck on his hands."

"I'm afraid Lawson beat you to that punchline, Joker." John said. They both smiled at the pilot's look of absolute shock.

"_Lawson?_" he demanded theatrically. "_Miranda Lawson? Told a Joke?_"

John's grin widened.

"Shut up." Miranda snapped, though he heart wasn't in the rebuke. Half of her attention focused on the mechanical body. The mech still hadn't moved at all. Yet Miranda's instincts were sending out alarms. Something was wrong. It was beginning to unnerve her. She got the feeling it was biding its time. Paranoia, probably.

"I dunno, Captain." The pilot continued, staring at Miranda suspiciously. "I think we might have an imposter on our hands. Another Eva maybe?"

Playing the part, John gave her shoulder an experimental poke. Miranda slapped his hand away irritably. "I'm more interested in your M.A. Mech, Joker."

"My what? Oh!" the pilot grinned evilly. "Yeah." He said. "My mech. It's a… new model. Just came out. Here to help me get from place to place."

"From which company?" she asked. "What serial number?"

"Uhh…"

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"EDI, stand up." Shepard ordered. To Miranda's shock, the mech straightened, moving with grace and fluid motion.

"Shepard!" Joker protested, clearly crestfallen.

The robot walked around it's seat and held out a hand to Miranda. "Hello Miss Lawson. It's good to see you." It said, in EDI's voice.

Miranda took a step backwards, still trying to register the AI's new home. She looked desperately at Shepard for an explanation. "John! What the hell happened?"

He shrugged. "Nothing I had any control over. It's a very long story."

"_You gave it a_-" Miranda stopped herself. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm acting like _him_ aren't I? Not treating it- _her_ like a person." she looked met the eyes of the mech. "I'm sorry EDI."

"No offense taken, Miss Lawson." The AI answered. "I understand that this is… unusual."

"To say the least."

"EDI was with me when we took down Chronos Station." John told her. "The body belonged to another Cerberus AI using the name Eva."

Miranda stared. "Eva? Eva Core?"

"Yeah. How did you…?"

"Her name is fairly well-known to top ranking Cerberus personnel." Miranda explained. "from what little I know she was a real human once. And she knew the Illusive Man before Cerberus. I don't know what happened to her, and it doesn't make much difference now anyway." She sighed, crossing her arms. "I'd better go. Unless there's something you need…"

"There actually is." John told her. "Follow me."

* * *

Miranda stared down at the circular War Room, with its central holographic table, and hanging wires. It really did look like a mess. But it had lasted them. Aesthetics were secondary to necessity, and she could see the immediate value of such an arrangement. She took a moment to think about where she was standing. The Reaper war had been fought from this room. Alliances had been brokered, assets collected. It was an historic place, despite its messy state.

"Welcome to the nerve center of the resistance." John said, his voice and gestures creating a bombastic parody of a real tour guide. "Featuring a fully functional holographic strategy map, terminals connecting to the leadership of every race in the galaxy, and a brand new, state-of-the-art entanglement communicator!"

"State-of-the-art?" she asked, smiling slightly. "We'd been using one for more than nine months before you handed it over…"

"I know. I held my tongue." John replied, dropping his hands. "I had to do that a lot recently. Everyone was so very proud. I didn't want to spoil the moment."

He led her around the perimeter of the room until they reached an alcove. A tiny space, barely larger than the communal washrooms on the third deck. The loose wires and unknowable technology were packed even more densely around this area.

"EDI, connect us with Admiral Hackett, please." John requested. Miranda smiled slightly. She rarely heard Shepard give a direct order outside of battle. He had never made a habit of ordering his crew around. He made requests, always forming things in a polite way. In the form of a question. He had never needed to pull rank. People followed his instructions, and obeyed because they wanted to. Because they trusted him to know what he was doing. Miranda considered herself a capable leader. She had proven it on multiple occasions, most of which no one knew about. But sometimes she was forced to pull rank. To rely on the weight of the Illusive Man's authority rather than her own. John never had to. It had caused a burning jealousy during her first few months working with him, but she had gotten over it. Eventually.

Hackett's holographic blue avatar shimmered into view. "Captain, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Sir, Miranda Lawson is going to take over as the Normandy's Executive Officer." John told him.

Hackett stared at them, his gaze switching back and forth between both Shepard and Miranda. They both stood silently, awaiting his reply.

"Captain, can I speak to you in private?" he asked.

Miranda gave Shepard a nod and exited the room.

Hackett turned his attention back to John. "Captain," he began, "She's former Cerberus. You're damned lucky I'm allowing her on board at all. Her relationship with you, and full cooperation with us, are the only things preventing her from being tried as a war criminal."

"She's trustworthy, sir." Shepard replied. "And she'd worked with this ship and some members of her crew since before the Alliance put their sticker on the side. This is the SSV Normandy. She deserves the best, and that means Miranda Lawson. You don't have a better candidate. I can guarantee that much."

"I'm aware of her accomplishments, but it's unprecedented, Shepard." Hackett said.

"Name one thing we've done over the past four months that wasn't, sir." John shot back.

"I can't see it happening, Captain." The Admiral shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"I could override the orders. I've still got council Spectre status." Shepard told him. "it supersedes Alliance protocol."

"The council is dead, Shepard." Hackett said coolly. "And the citadel is in ruins."

"The galactic community isn't, sir." Shepard replied, unashamed. "Or are we only a part of that when Earth is getting burnt to a crisp?"

"Watch your tone Commander."

"I need her on board this ship. And for her sake, she needs something to do. A way to help." John said, not backing down. "You asked me to put the uniform on again, sir. I guess I'm making this a condition of my continued service and support."

Hackett watched him carefully.

"Give her a trial run, sir. Let her prove herself."

"Commander, is it just possible that your personal feelings are clouding your judgment?"

"I _know_ they are." John responded. "But she's helped you out during the war. She helped me and the rest of the crew out. She could have turned the gun on me at any point but didn't. She's reformed, sir. And she's the best candidate for the job."

"Captain-"

"Do you have a better option?"

"No-"

"Well then…?"

Shepard could see Hackett's expression. The Admiral's patience was wearing paper thin. Hackett reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well, Shepard. I'll have a rank assigned, and the necessary paperwork filled out."

"I appreciate it, Admiral."

"Captain Shepard, I understand your desire to have her around. And I understand how much this all means to both of you, but watch it. My patience only lasts for so long. The galaxy owes you. Don't collect that favor too soon. Show some respect for the chain of command. We can only bend the rules so far."

"I've bent them a lot further than this, sir."

Hackett glared at him. "Just watch it, Shepard. This is the last time. When is your next supply run?"

"Oh nine-hundred."

"I'll have a uniform delivered." Hackett said. "Send her size to my yeoman. Don't expect this again. Hackett out."

* * *

"John?"

John swiveled in his desk chair. Miranda stepped out of the washroom, wearing an alliance uniform. It didn't fit her. Not like the old Cerberus catsuit had. Said suit was now lying folded neatly on the bed. Neither of them were sure what was going to be done with it.

She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It looked good, but her beauty wasn't accented in quite the same way it had been before. It was present, certainly. But she had neglected her usual makeup, and lacked the sexy atmosphere which always seemed to follow her. Instead of the stark white, she was dressed in dark greys and browns, and blue camouflage.

On one level, he sincerely regretted the change, but he didn't like thinking on that level very much so he chose to be glad of it instead. It reflected the difference in her personality. It was symbolic of the way she had opened up. She was no longer the Ice Queen. The mysterious Cerberus femme fatale. Now she looked like the woman he knew her to be: She was Miranda Lawson, an intelligent, practical officer.

Or perhaps Operative was indeed still the better word; Hackett had managed to secure for her the rank of Specialist. It sounded good because no one could nail down exactly what it meant, nor how far up the chain of command it placed her. She wouldn't be forced to argue with those bitter few who were waiting on promotion themselves. And he had to admit, her skill set was far too varied for a regular marine rank.

To the crew, she would at least look like she belonged on board. The rest was simply a matter of time and experience. Garrus, Tali, and a few others had spread a few stories over the course of the months-long conflict. Everyone on the Normandy knew the name Miranda Lawson. Time would tell if her reputation would be a help, or a hinderance.

* * *

John moved up to his dais and pressed the ship-wide intercom. "If I could get everyone's attention for a moment…"

Miranda noted how his voice sounded a little more frail as he spoke to them. He sounded weak. Weaker than he had during any of their private conversations. He was also favoring one side slightly more than the other. It was a low move. Manipulative. But designed to impress upon the crew the necessity of Miranda's presence. He was reminding them all of what he'd been through. Of what they'd been through. He was also carrying Garrus' visor, which seemed to have found permanent residence on his desk. Another manipulative move. They had lost people. Good people. But numbers needed replenishment. Just another reason to accept her presence on board. She couldn't be here just for him. That would not go over well. He needed them to think that the entire ship needed her presence.

The CIC crew stepped away from their stations to listen with rapt attention.

John began to speak, still in that weakened voice. "Many of you may have noticed the new crew member."

A few heads nodded.

"This is Specialist Miranda Lawson. A former Cerberus Operative." He gestured at the interior of the CIC. "All of you know that the Alliance didn't build this vessel. This was a Cerberus ship, commissioned by the Illusive Man himself to deal with both the Collectors and the Reapers. Miranda was the head of our cell. The Lazarus Cell. She brought me back, assembled this ship, and the very best people humanity had to offer. She was my executive officer then, and she has agreed to take on the position again.

"This ship hasn't been around very long, but we already have a tradition of competence, excellence, and an extraordinary ability to get the job done despite all odds. A tradition, I might add, which has carried over to the Alliance, and her current crew."

He let them take a moment to revel in the praise. "And no one embodies those ideals better than Miranda Lawson. Yes, she's former Cerberus. If you have questions or concerns, ask. We'll answer. She has nothing to hide. Nor do I.

"You think this war is over? Just because the Reapers are gone? There's still Palaven. Thessia. Sur'Kesh. Dekuuna. Things are going to be rough over the next few months, and we're down a few." He waved the visor slightly to remind them. "And I'm not at 100% myself. We'll need her help. I'll need her help. I've asked her here myself, so show some patience. Show some respect."

His shoulders slumped slightly, and his voice grew slightly more frail. It was still strong, still Shepard. He just lacked an edge. It was disheartening to see, and for a moment, Miranda wasn't quite sure herself whether or not he was putting on a show. She had no doubt his wounds were still aching, but she did not know to what extent his current pain was an act. If it was, it was a very subtle one. It had to be. And from what she could tell, it was working. The crew were wincing along with him.

He turned back to her. "Do you have anything to say, Miranda?"

She nodded. He turned and walked down the dais, still favoring one side ever so slightly.

Miranda felt the heat of the crowd as they watched her with strict attention. To her surprise, she felt ill at ease. Again, it was a problem of experience. This crew had gone through hell together. Despite her relationship with John, and her intimate knowledge of the ship, original crew, and mission, she was a newcomer, and would have to prove herself.

"I'm Miranda. Call me Specialist Lawson." She let her voice take on a stern edge. "I don't have patience for foolishness, or incompetence." She nodded at Shepard. "John tells me you're good. He tells me you're the best. But he was right, when he got promoted, eh gave a speech, and he said that we didn't win. Our best was not enough, and for all we know, they could be coming back." She listened to their groans and silent curses, and drove the point home. "This could be the eye of the storm. And we've already lost Garrus Vakarian, Ashley Williams, half our galaxy's collected fleets, as well as the home worlds of all four council species. In a matter of weeks, the Reapers did more damage than any species in galactic history, including the Krogan."

She paused, and glanced back at John. He offered her a supporting look. _You're doing fine._

"Our best wasn't enough to stop it. Work with me. I'll work with you, and we'll see if we can't get that much better."

* * *

_Shepard's eyes opened slowly. He heard a woman's voice. Frantic. Distressed nearly beyond reason. _

"_Did we get anyone to the beam?" the voice demanded._

_High above his head, the black clouds boiled and writhed, whirling around the beam as it cut through the earth's atmosphere. The band of light was hot. Blinding. But not as blinding as the pain._

"_Negative." Another voice answered. Male. British. Coates. Major Coates. "Our entire force was decimated."_

_His skin burned, his muscles screamed in torment. His ribs stung on his left side, and he knew than they were broken. With every tiny movement he made, an entirely new wave of agony would tear through his flesh, paralyzing him. He watched helpless as harbinger's blurry shape blasted off back into the atmosphere._

"_it's too much!" Coates reported. "We need to regroup! Fall back to the buildings!"_

"_Fall back!" the woman's voice echoed. "All forces retreat!"_

_His armour was a blackened husk. Burnt and melted. He could feel the heat and terrible pain where the plastics had melded with the skin around his neck and upper arms. _

_NO! We're not going to lose! Not so close to the end!_

_Miranda's face flashed through his mind, and he took solace in his memories of her, using them as a point of strength and comfort. Blockading them from the pain and misery of his current situation, and finding the strength to rise, despite it all. John struggled. Fighting the gritty pain and his unresponsive limbs, he slowly rolled onto his stomach and forced himself to his knees, his hand grasping the grip of a pistol along the way._

_He rose to his feet slowly, gingerly, and began to make his way to the beam, concentrating on putting one foot ahead of the other. It became a hypnotic ritual. He knew that so long as he concentrated on this smallest of tasks, he would reach his goal. It was only a matter of time._

_He was so engrossed in his task that he nearly missed the husks. Three of them, approaching him with the easy stalk of wolves eyeing a wounded lamb. Raising his arm was difficult, but John remembered Miranda, and knew that if he didn't kill them, he'd never see her again. Not that it was likely in any case, but he had hope. It was all he had left._

_Even as he gunned them down, another sharp pain engulfed his side. This was familiar, he thought as it knocked him to the ground, he had felt it before: a mass effect round, puncturing the unprotected flesh of his abdomen. It had originated from a marauder, wherever it had come from… _

_From his helpless position on the ground, John watched his final enemy prepare for a second shot. He raised his pistol in a last attempt to defend himself, but knowing it was useless.. This was it. The end._

_His attacker's head exploded, blood fountaining neatly from the base of the neck._

John woke up in a cold sweat. He sat up, ignoring the relatively minor pain, and fumbled for the light switch. Once found, he flicked it on, and stared at the desk upon which lay the visor of Garrus Vakarian.

Yes, the Marauder's head had exploded. But John hadn't pulled the trigger.

* * *

**I know this was a long chapter. But there's a lot in here, so…**

**I've been asked to mention that apparently a Miranda fanbook is in the works. Just to let you guys to know about this project. You can collaborate with it if you want. I'm not sure whether I will or not. I'm willing to stomach nearly anything else so long as the Extended edition fixes the DLC and has some nod to her romance in it. Even just a shot of her staring into space wondering WTF after shep does his thing…**

**Anyway, they are currently receiving:**

**1) Letters. From the fans to the developers. There's also roleplaying letters, like from your Shepard to the devs.**

**2) Fanfic. They are receiving one-shots or excerpts from long series. ( if you guys have a favorite section from this one, point it out. I might send it in.)**

**3) Fanart.**

**There is a May 30th submission deadline. They can be delivered in the group in the Bioware forums (Miranda FanBook Group), the thread in the hold the line forum, or in the mail, though what the address is, I have no idea. PM 'Skllhrt' to find out.**

**Here's a link where you can get more information: **

**Www(dot)holdtheline(dot)com/threads/miranda-fan-book-project.1576/**

**What's needed is letters to support Miranda and let the writers team how her fanbase missed her during ME3.**

**Again, for myself, I think they did okay with her. I'm actually GLAD they didn't have another sex scene. She gets enough flak from Talimancers for just being eye-candy, and I thought the way they played her in ME3 got away from that, so it's fine by me. As much of a Miri fan as I am, the game has a bigger issue which needs solving. The mere existence of this story is my main protest, and it shouldn't have to be here.**

**But if you want, go ahead and contribute to the Miranda book. Perhaps it'll remind Bioware of just how invested we are in their creation. In case all those cupcakes didn't get the point across…**


	12. The Gift

The Gift

Miranda woke up far earlier than she'd planned. John was asleep, though judging by his busy eyes and occasional twitching, his rest was not as fitful as she'd hoped. Moving silently, so as not to wake him up, she slipped out of bed and reached instinctively for her Cerberus uniform only to find an alliance one there instead.

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar colors, then quietly got dressed and headed out into the hallway, letting the door close behind her. She pondered for a moment, whether or not to go back and wake John, but he wasn't a child. Whatever it was he was dreaming about, he could deal with. And she had more pressing issues.

"EDI?"

"Yes Specialist Lawson?"

"Where is the Normandy right now? What are our standing orders?"

"Assist with the war effort in any way possible. We are currently in synchronous low orbit over the city of Vancouver, ready to receive wounded or assist in any necessary capacity. In the past six hours we've initiated two orbital strikes against Reaper hard points. Admiral Hackett wishes us to remain here until otherwise instructed."

"Thank you EDI." Miranda sighed in relief. She had hoped the standing orders would allow her to appear in command, without forcing her into any major decisions. It wasn't that she was not prepared to make them, but the less she disrupted the Normandy's established routines, the smoother her transition would go.

She entered the elevator and descended to the CIC. Of all the areas of the ship, this was the one the Alliance had altered the least. The major change was of course, the lighting, which she despised, but there were other alterations. Smaller ones. More unsecured wiring was hanging from the ceiling, and Alliance logos seemed to be plastered on every available surface. _That _particular detail made Miranda smile; the alliance was a little too determined to wipe the ship's 'evil' Cerberus origins from memory and claim it as their own. It was the reaction of a jealous child laying claim to a sibling's superior and long-coveted toy.

Miranda walked purposefully to the dais and mounted it, never breaking step until she was staring into the galaxy map.

"Welcome aboard Ma'am." The yeoman to her right said. Her voice revealed her London background, and Miranda wondered whether or not the girl's family had survived.

Miranda turned and smiled at her. "Thank you. And you are…?"

"Communications Specialist Samantha Traynor." The young woman saluted and Miranda took a quick inventory. The woman was young. Probably barely reaching her mid-twenties. She was pretty enough with a delicate chin, dark skin, and a pair of enormous brown eyes.

She lacked confidence, apparently having trouble keeping eye contact. Miranda filed her under the heading of 'Easy to manipulate'. Such people would cling to the first person who offered them some substantial support, which John would of course have done. She didn't have to ask to know that Traynor thought the world of him. Of course she would.

For his part, anything John said to her would have been in earnest. He probably wouldn't even understand the kind of pillar he'd become to his crew. Miranda knew he would hotly deny it if anyone ever tried to explain it outright. He'd refuse to believe it. But Miranda had watched person after person fall in line behind Shepard's inner fire.

First Jacob, then Mordin, then mess Sergeant Gardner and the rest of the Cerberus crew. Most of his away team with the possible exceptions of Legion and Samara. Eventually Miranda herself had been overtaken, unable to resist. The best she had been able to do despite all of her training, knowledge, and prior convictions was admit the truth to herself and make the most of it.

John made people believe, and to the best of her knowledge the only person ever to truly escape his net was Garrus Vakarian, if only because the Turian had been beside him, helping him cast it.

"So… umm…you were a part of Cerberus?" Traynor asked.

"I was." Miranda and John had agreed that honesty was the best policy. That didn't mean she wanted to tell her life's story either. She wondered where she'd eventually have to draw the line.

"Oh." The girl rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Miranda stared down into the wheeling stars of the galaxy map.

"Well… did you have many friends in it?"

"I had colleagues. Associates. Contacts." Miranda replied tersely. "Friendship was not encouraged. The Illusive Man appreciated the benefits of a …competitive… atmosphere."

"The alliance fosters competition too." Traynor replied.

"Yes, but the consequences for failing are not nearly as severe. Just as the rewards for succeeding are not nearly as lucrative. Cerberus wanted the best." Miranda chose the past tense carefully, remembering Liara's warning. These people wouldn't trust her if they thought she were still a Cerberus agent. John had his critics, albeit few by this point, and to them, Miranda would be his blind spot. His most obvious failing. Proof of impaired judgment. If she did not play things properly, their relationship could turn into his biggest problem. "Once you'd proven yourself, you were afforded every opportunity to utilize your skills. Those who had the most to offer, went the farthest."

"Oh…" Traynor stared down at her console. "It sounds like it was a rewarding place to work."

"It was. But it also had serious flaws. Lack of oversight, disregard for consequences, the belief that the ends justified the means…" she smiled slightly. "Scope creep…"

"Scope creep? Really?" the young woman laughed.

"Protect humanity and serve its advancement." Miranda said. "The Illusive Man failed to realize that if we advance too far in certain directions, we cease to be human at all. Advance socially, politically, and economically. Through military force if necessary. The alliance has lines you don't cross. Cerberus had lines they stuck close to, but could walk on either side of. When necessary. It was a slippery slope, and we-" she stopped and corrected. "_They_ were bound to trip eventually. It was only a matter of time I suppose. They nearly dragged the galaxy down with them."

* * *

Miranda entered the Medbay with a certain amount of caution. There was a Geth standing in the corner, across from Tali's cot. It's bright iris was throwing strange patterns of light on the wall. Someone had hung a set of towels on its shoulder, telling Miranda that it hadn't moved in quite some time. It would have bothered her more, had she not been acquainted with Legion. Geth platforms were either hostile, or not. They didn't trick or deceive. There was no middle ground. If the Geth had not already tried to kill her, then she had nothing to fear from it at all.

Chakwas was nowhere to be seen, and Miranda could only assume that she had other business to attend to. Perhaps the good doctor was eating, or catching up on some much needed rest. Either way, Miranda intended to follow through on her request.

Tali'Zorah vs Normandy was sitting upright in her bed. Her suit was bandaged and wrapped in a protective layer of plastic, no doubt to keep out infection. The young quarian was conscious and alert, watching Miranda as she crossed the floor of the medbay and took a seat on the empty chair beside the cot.

"Hello Miranda." Tali greeted.

"Hello." Miranda replied. "Chakwas told me you wanted to talk…"

"I thought a long time about what I was going to say to you." Tali said.

"And what did you decide?"

"That I don't like you." The Quarian told her. "You irritate me. but I do respect you. I wanted you to know that."

"…Thank you." Miranda chose the polite option. She herself had grown somewhat fond of the Quarian over the course of the collector mission, though she would never have dared admit it. Tali's earnestness and innocence, while annoying as hell, had also been… refreshing. Miranda spent far too much of her life around those who knew better. People who had seen and succumbed to the dark side of the system. The ability to keep up faith in the galaxy's supposed inherent goodness during a Cerberus operation was a challenge for the best. One that John Shepard himself had failed. Yet Tali had managed to escape it. The Quarian was by no means untraveled, or inexperienced. Just untouched. Pure, in a way. Like Oriana. And while she and Miranda had never been on the best of terms, there was certainly respect there. On both sides.

A major issue, aside from the ascension incident, had been Tali's rather large infatuation with Shepard. The Quarian had not been pleased to hear of his relationship with Miranda. It had created an extraordinary amount of friction.

A relationship between Tali and Shepard may have been possible at some point in the past. Perhaps near the beginning of that long journey, when he was still opposed to Cerberus, Miranda, the Illusive Man, and everything he had thought they stood for. He would also have to have given up on Williams. But by the end, Miranda and Cerberus had won him over, though she had to attribute much of the credit to Williams' betrayal, and the staggering amount of apathy displayed by both the Alliance and the Council. John had come to his conclusions on his own terms, and found them to match hers, rather than Tali's.

Not that any of _that_ mattered much now. John had said that Tali was with Garrus, so- Oh…right...

…Well that would make things much more difficult going forward. Nothing hurt part of a broken couple more than seeing a relatively happy one flourish. In the privacy of her own mind, Miranda made a mental note to act cold and official towards John whenever Tali was present. Things would be hard enough, and she wasn't about to add to the Quarian's pain. In the past, Miranda had been defined as cold. Harsh. But she wasn't a sadist.

"How long are you going to be here for?" Tali asked in a despondent tone.

"I've been accepted as the Normandy's executive officer." Miranda told her, feeling that it was best to get things out in the open.

"I'm sure Shepard will be pleased." The Quarian intoned. The bitter edge in her voice confirmed Miranda's worst fears. She searched for something to say, and a simple phrase sparked in her brain and was out of her mouth before she had a chance to think it through.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out.

"Why are _you_ apologizing?" on the surface, Tali was being polite, yet Miranda could hear the storm clouds gathering. Pity was clearly not a welcomed emotion.

"Because…" Miranda thought for a moment, trying to turn the conversation from the cliff it was suddenly heading towards. "Because someone has to! This war has not been kind to any of you, and no one's taken any notice."

Privately, she believed that she herself had been worse off than Tali, but at least she had been aware of her situation. She had understood it. She had spent four months hiding and on the run because she had betrayed Cerberus and the Illusive Man. She had hunted down Oriana because their father had finally forced her hand. Action… consequence. Simple. Straight-forward.

But Tali was of a far softer mentality. More fragile, in her own way. She was the sort who looked for greater answers to those lingering questions. Ones like 'Why did this have to happen to us?', 'Why does the universe have to be this way?'. Religious? Perhaps not. But spiritual, certainly. The cold logic that Miranda found comfort in during her difficult moments would be of little use to a being who saw the universe on such social and emotional terms.

Her response didn't seem to have helped Tali's mood much, but at least the conversation felt like it was back on stable ground.

"Can I ask you a question?" the Quarian inquired.

Miranda crossed her arms, taking a guarded stance. "Yes."

"You ran away from your father. When did you realize what he was doing? When did you run away from him? And why?"

Miranda stared, feeling a cold stone settle in her gut. The urge to retreat grew overwhelming, and she felt herself freezing up. "Why that?"

"I never made the effort to really understand you." Tali told her. "Until Sanctuary, I never thought you were worth it." She met Miranda's eyes through her faceplate. "I'm still not entirely sure."

"That's… personal." Miranda told her, caught in her own memories and a sudden avalanche of emotional turmoil. She hadn't examined those memories in years. She had kept them locked up. Tucked safely away under piles of Cerberus propaganda, new knowledge and skills… her assignments… now her feelings for John… She had hoped the sheer bulk of material would somehow cause them to disappear. Or perhaps suppress them permanently. There was nothing in her first decade and a half that she wanted to remember… aside from Oriana.

But now it was all rushing back. Small moments flashed through her mind. Being berated for her marks, no matter how high she achieved. Accusations that she hadn't been trying. Projects upon which she'd stayed up all night, trying to please him. A particularly bitter memory bobbed to the surface, making her wince.

_This is what lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent, and pathetic children get so that they can feel coddled…_

All those manipulations both blatant and subtle which even now, so many years later, after the man's death, caused her heart to ache. They came rushing to the surface, filling her with impotent anger and helpless shame, and she hated Tali for unlocking them.

Miranda had always maintained that Oriana's rescue had been an act of charity. She had saved her sister from her father's despicable methods of 'parenting'. But she had lied to everyone, including herself. Vengeance had been a factor. It had not been a completely selfless act.

"Personal?" the Quarian asked, "So what?"

"I haven't even told John any of that…"

"Why not? You're together." The Quarian replied shortly. "You clearly don't trust him with the information. How are any of the rest of us supposed to trust you?"

"You managed well enough on the collector mission…"

"I was working with John. I tolerated you. But now? This ship is our home. You're a crew member, that makes us family. Can you be a part of a family or not?"

Miranda's brows knitted together. Was this a test? Or vengeance of some kind? Retribution? If so, it was certainly effective.

As if reading her mind, the Quarian snarled, "I'm trying to give you a gift here, Miranda. I'm asking for Shepard's sake. You don't understand the value of what you have! You and Shepard… you see it as a burden!"

"It is _not _a burden!" Miranda replied coldly.

"Really?" the Quarian crossed her arms. "And where were you after Sanctuary? You didn't want to come aboard and help him. Everyone else did. Even Williams…"

Miranda kept silent, glaring at her.

"You can't get close to people." the quarian told her. "You lie, and you hide. How long do you think your relationship with him will last if that continues? Go tell him, and prove you deserve what life has given you." Tali ordered. "I've done my part. Go back to Shepard."

Miranda hardened. "You and he planned this, then?"

"No." Said the quarian. "He would be quite angry if he knew I put you through this. But I know him, and he deserves something better from you. Honesty at the very least. Honest relationships don't survive secrets. That's why I don't think you can be a part of one."

Miranda watched the quarian for a moment, her face pale with anger. So that was it, then? What all this had been building up to? A challenge. Where did this sudden animosity come from? Garrus' death, perhaps? Or something left over from the Collector mission. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected Tali to talk about… but it certainly wasn't this.

It didn't matter. The memories were at the front of her thoughts anyway, and the accusation that she wouldn't be able to keep a relationship with John left far too stung to simply walk. She was being manipulated, very clearly. And she was _not _about to let that happen any longer. She'd had far too much of that from her own father.

She remembered an empty shelf space, and her father's voice.

…_There are winners, and losers. I didn't raise you to lose…_

No, she had had more than enough of that. And she was not about to rise to Tali's challenge. "I'm not interested in discussing my past with you."

"Good. I'm not interested in hearing it."

Miranda frowned. Not the answer she had been expecting. "Then why ask? And do you honestly believe I don't recognize when someone is trying to wind me up? There's a reason I keep my past to myself."

"I know." Tali replied simply. "Fear. And I'm asking because everything is different now, and you're going to go nowhere unless you can open up to _somebody_. And that's what you still don't understand about John Shepard."

* * *

The door slid open to Shepard's cabin. The man was fully clothed, lying on his bed. A data pad was beside him, though his own focus was centered entirely on Garrus' visor. The pain on his face told her that something else had come up. Something she'd have to ask him about after this was dealt with.

He glanced up at her and smiled, then saw the expression on her face and did a double take. "What is it?" he carefully set Garrus' visor down on the bedside table and gave her his full attention.

Miranda made her way carefully down the steps and took a seat on the couch, staring across the flat into the fishtank. She wanted to run. To hide. Anything but relive those early years, let alone tell them to anyone. But if she did, then she'd prove Tali right, and she wasn't about to give the quarian that satisfaction.

She said, "I remember the first time I ever won a trophy in school..."

John's expression changed. He was suddenly much more cautious, watching her as someone might observe a child on a balance beam. For once, his concern was more welcome. "School? When you were a kid?"

She nodded, and he sat up much straighter, giving her a serious examination. "What brought this on?"

"I had a talk with Tali…"

John's expression hardened. He made to rise furiously, but Miranda interrupted him, knowing exactly what his intentions were. She was surprised to hear just how frail her own voice sounded. She realized she was begging. "Don't, John. Please. Sit… please?"

Shepard did sit. He joined her on the couch and pulled her into a tight but comforting embrace, her head on his shoulder. They both stared into the fish tank.

"Tell me." He said.

"My father," she began, "Was a very insidious man. He was an expert at manipulating people to suit his ends. He never laid a hand on me, but I was an emotional hostage. Paralyzed. He'd always push me to try just a little bit harder. No matter how hard I tried I could never quite get it right. He always acted as if I got close enough that I _could_ have. I could have been perfect, and the failure was on my part for not living up to my own potential…"

She took a deep breath, fighting down her emotions long enough to keep going. She hadn't intended to put her childhood under a microscope, but she was going now. there was no point in stopping. As much as she hated it, Tali was right. She needed to be able to open up to him. "I was very young. Stupid. I couldn't recognize what he was doing to me. I didn't. Not until I was a teenager."

"That's when you left with Oriana…"

She nodded.

"And the trophy?"

"I got silver. I won it in our school's music competition." She began. She shut her eyes, remembering the cold sterile kitchen lights of Henry Lawson's enormous home. The plush carpets and smooth, clinical architecture. It had been a show home. Much like her, it was something he could show to his friends and underlings. Something to be proud of…

She remembered the night she had decided to try and win that trophy. Her father had never been particularly emotional, but those few days he had been much colder than usual. She had approached his leather armchair and sat obediently bedside it, staring up at him. Henry had been staring at an empty spot on a nearby shelf.

"_Do you know your classmate Dalia Brule?" he asked._

"_Yes father." _

"_I visited her house…" he told her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "She won a medal in the gymnastics competition." He smiled slightly, though his expression was one of hurt and regret, and jealousy. "her mother was so proud…"_

"_I'll get you one, Daddy." Miranda promised._

_Henry smiled at her and kissed her on the top of the head. "Good girl."_

"I worked hard, John…" Miranda told him calmly. "Day and night. There was a music recital the end of that month. Father had already been paying for violin lessons, and piano lessons. I would get home from school, finished my homework, and practiced for hours. Before and after dinner, whenever I didn't skip it. I wanted to give him a trophy. Something to put on that damned shelf."

She felt his arm wrap even more tightly around her side. "But you didn't get it?"

"I got _a _trophy." She said. "Silver. He was at the competition, and the awards ceremony. But left right after I got mine…"

_Her teacher bent down and handed her the silver trophy, announcing her name. Miranda stared into the crowd, beaming. Her smile faltered as she met her father's disappointed eyes. He stood silent, still as a statue, even as the parents surrounding him, those of every child who had lost the competition, applauded her…_

"That's cruel." John said, through gritted teeth.

"It was." She agreed grimly. "But he had his 'reasons'…"

"_Miranda," Henry said, gently dropping the silver trophy into the garbage bin. He sat her down on his knee. His tone was harsh, but not unkind. "There are only two kinds of people in this world, and only one type of trophy. There are winners, and losers. I didn't raise you to lose."_

"_I didn't lose, father." Miranda argued tearfully, "there were thirty of us! I placed second."_

"_Exactly." Henry replied, "You placed second. Not first. Do you know why this medal isn't gold, Miranda?" he held her by the chin, his touch gentle but firm. "this trophy isn't gold because you didn't try hard enough. This is a reward for those who didn't make the cut. This is what lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent, and pathetic children get so that they can feel coddled. But you're better than that, Miranda. I know you are. I MADE you to be better than that."_

"It wasn't the first time. He had done something like that." She told Shepard. "I was just too young and determined to spot the pattern…

"Did you ever get the gold trophy?"

"The next year." She told him. "I practiced twice as hard. Won gold." She scoffed. "The bastard wasn't even at the ceremony. He had a 'buisness' meeting."

_Henry carefully lifted the trophy out of Miranda's hands. It had been so heavy to her. She'd had to hold it with both hands. Yet he held it in his palm as his other hand cleaned a thin layer of dust from the surface of the shelf. He placed the trophy carefully on the surface, rotating it ever so slightly to the left so that the light caught it the right way._

"_I'm a winner, Father!" Miranda said proudly._

_Henry looked down and granted her a small smile. "Good girl." He said, ruffling her hair. "We'll call it a start. But there are plenty more empty spaces on this shelf."_

"How old were you?" John asked, stroking her hair gently. The cabin had become very cold all of a sudden. She squirmed a little and pulled her feet up onto the couch, trying to grow closer to him, to feel a little more warmth. He responded in kind, embracing her fully.

"five… maybe six…"

"That's too young, Miranda." John defended, "You can't blame yourself for that…"

"I should have seen it." She replied. "But that was how he operated. Small rewards for big successes, when he couldn't find a way to turn them into failures, and whenever he found a failure…" she swallowed. "… he'd do his best to make me remember it…" she scowled. "There was no way I was ever going to let Oriana suffer through that."

"And you didn't." he said soothingly. "You rescued her."

She shut her eyes and fell silent, letting herself calm down, and taking comfort and refuge in his embrace. It was painful, leaving her aching and drained, and on the verge of tears. But on another level, she felt exalted. As if a great weight were being taken off her shoulders. She had someone to share it with.

And that was it, wasn't it? The quarian's plan? What had Tali intended her to feel? The pain of those memories? More love for John? A renewed investment in their relationship? The Quarian had succeeded, on all three counts.

And Miranda hated her for it.

* * *

**This one took a little while to write. For every word on the screen, there were, like, thirty that didn't make it. If you're looking to put yourself through the emotional wringer, go read a book called **_**Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother**_**.**

**I've read quite a few stories about Miranda's upbringing. All of them depict different levels and types of abuse. For my part, I can't imagine that Henry Lawson ever laid a hand on her. Or swore at her or any of that sort of abuse. There's a far more insidious, subtle kind, which I think suits her story far better.**

**I had intended that Miranda's talk with Tali be a simple "hello I forgive you…lets be friends, okay?" but this is much more interesting.**


	13. Diplomatic Preparations

Diplomatic Preparations

Tali watched Shepard approach through the corner of her eye. She had foreseen this, been ready for this. It went hand in hand with her treatment of Miranda, and was to be expected. The captain stopped a short distance away, arms folded angrily. He turned back to Chakwas, who was watching them both with a curious expression.

"Give us a minute." he barked angrily.

Chakwas flinched at his tone, but rose leaving the two of them alone with the inert geth. The platform still had not moved since he had told it to get out of the chair.

"I know why you're here, Shepard." The quarian told him heavily. John paused a moment to collect his thoughts, or to calm himself down. Tali had known him a long time, and she could tell that he was furious. But she was ready for it.

"You crossed a line with Miranda, Tali." He told her. His voice was razor sharp. Deadly.

She waited in silence. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to immediately respond, he asked, "What the _hell_ happened? I thought after Horizon, you finally got to see where she was coming from. I thought maybe you'd try to resolve things with her…"

"I could have." Tali agreed, glossing over the fact that the former Cerberus operative had never done much to patch things up herself. Shepard wasn't in the mod to see quite _that_ straight. "Or I could have done something useful. She already doesn't like me. I already don't like her. Nothing's been lost, but she knows she can talk to you now. About anything."

"That may be so, but she shouldn't have faced it this way!" John fumed. "We would have sorted it out on our own."

"When?" Tali asked, "Ten years down the road? When the two of you are trying to raise a child, perhaps? Would that have been a better time?"

"Well first of all, Miranda is…" John stopped. He wasn't about to break Miranda's confidence. Her sterility was one of her most closely guarded secrets. Out of shame, or perhaps mistrust of others. John both hoped and suspected it was the latter. Miranda had told him about it herself, so that would be a reassurance of her trust in him.

Miranda was sterile, so the discussion of children was academic. But in the realm of academia, Tali certainly had a point. It _was _better that Miranda confront and resolve those childhood issues before trying to raise any children, or truly settling down at all. Otherwise things could get very ugly between both of them and - god forbid - herself and her children.

"Can you honestly see her opening up any other way?" Tali asked.

"Not at the moment." John admitted through clenched teeth. "but that doesn't mean she wouldn't have sometime down the road."

"Yes, and had you been the one to pry her open, you would have been the focus of her anger. That's not good. I'm an engineer performing preventative maintenance." Tali shrugged. "Nothing more."

"And now with the two of you on the Normandy…?" John asked, taking a seat beside her. "She's executive officer, and you're our best engineer. How do you intend to work together?"

"We won't be here forever. And remember that she's Miranda Lawson. She won't be angry at me. Not to my face. I'm alright with her doing it behind my back, but she'll keep it cold and professional when it counts. Nothing really will have changed." Tali said. "Nothing I can't live with."

John sighed, softening slightly. He slowly reached up and rubbed his forehead. "It was just hard… watching her suffer through that. It shouldn't have happened this way, Tali."

"She was going to suffer through it eventually no matter what happened. Better this way. Better that it be a bonding moment at my expense than an argument at the expense of your relationship." The quarian replied. "The two of you are closer than ever, and none of us lost anything we miss."

"But the relationship between the two of _you_…"

"Was never going to be a perfectly friendly one anyway, and isn't nearly as important as the relationship between the two of _you_."

Tali patted him on the shoulder, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "You care. I'm happy for you, and after Sanctuary, I wanted to do something to help her… to _really _help her."

"Well that wasn't the right way to do it…" he said finally, "But I understand where you're coming from."

They lapsed in a long, thoughtful silence. Tali's tone, though she had genuinely congratulated him, was mournful, and Shepard knew why. They both had the same thing on their mind: Garrus. Shepard had put the Turian and the dream out of his thoughts in order to help Miranda, but sitting there in the medbay with Tali, it surfaced again.

He said, "I had a dream last night. Or… a memory…"

"What about?"

"Operation Hammer and the run to the beam." John sighed, his eyes glazed over as he ran the painful memory for the umpteenth time since he'd awoken. "There was a moment, after Harbinger slaughtered Hammer… its beam had missed me by inches and I was lying there in the muck, ready to die. A marauder was there, trying to finish me off, and I didn't have enough left to fight it."

"Shepard…" the quarian began, suddenly worried.

"And its head exploded."

Tali stared.

John let out a shaking breath, grimacing. "I was only half conscious at the time. It didn't even register until this morning. But Garrus was alive. Covering me with his sniper rifle. And I left him down there to get slaughtered by a banshee while I ran to the beam and escaped..."

"You didn't leave him." the Quarian argued. "You didn't even know he was alive."

"But he was!" John replied harshly. "He was alive and kicking, and if I'd realized, I could have gone back for him!"

"And if you'd been trapped away from the beam? We would have lost the battle."

"I know that. I just…" Shepard shook his head. "I owe him so much-"

"You owe him nothing." Tali replied. "There is nowhere else he would rather have been, and nothing else he would rather have been doing. The same goes for Williams and Liara and me and Vega. Even Joker. We all knew what fighting this war meant. What the chances were and we all did it anyway. Garrus understood how slim our chances were. I've often thought he knew it far better than _you_ did."

"If I'd gone back…"

"You might have saved him. Or you might have died with him. He's not here." Tali told him. "But if he were, he would have been the first to tell you that you made the right move."

"Well it got me thinking…" Shepard turned to her. "Tali, Miranda managed to bring me back, and-"

"You stop right there, John Shepard!" Tali cut him off. "Are you seriously suggesting that we devote billions of credits to bringing back one Turian soldier just so you can thank him, apologize, and swap war stories? While the rest of the galaxy is short of resources and billions of people across all different races are trying to rebuild lives and homes?"

"Well, I-" he began, taken aback.

"Or are you telling me because he and I were getting cozy?" she demanded angrily. "Because you're right. You are absolutely right! We were! And what I'm about to do, I'm doing on _his _behalf because he isn't here to do it himself!"

Her fist caught John across the jaw, knocking him off the chair and onto the floor.

"Get up!" the quarian ordered, "Dust yourself off, and pay his memory some real tribute by putting this galaxy back together!"

* * *

Shepard stepped up to the galaxy map, rubbing his bruised jaw. Traynor had spotted it, he knew. "I talked to Miranda." She probed. "She seems… pleasant."

"She can be." John smiled at her, "Just try not to get on her bad side."

"Yeah…" Traynor said awkwardly, staring at the bruise. "I'll uh… I'll do that."

"This wasn't her, by the way." John clarified, gesturing at the aching brown area.

"I didn't think so." The yeoman lied politely.

John grinned and shook his head. "Where are we at, Specialist?"

"Synchronous orbit over Vancouver." She replied immediately. "Launching orbital strikes when necessary."

"Well find me another ship to take over, please." John requested. "We need to report to Hackett, and steal him away for a little while. Send a message that I want to talk to him over the vid-com." John thought for a moment. "Also, see if you can't find out where the Orizaba is, if it's still around. "

"Aye aye, Comm- Captain!" Traynor managed to catch herself and correct. She gave him and salute, which he returned, before striding to the war room.

* * *

Hackett's blue avatar materialized and gave Shepard a relatively friendly greeting which, given the content of their last communication, was a surprise. "Captain Shepard, glad to see you're finally taking command." The Admiral's tone turned slightly sour. "How is your executive officer settling in?"

"Smoothly, thank you." John answered. "Sir, I need you to send out a request to the leaders of all the different races who brought a fleet to earth. They're to report to the Normandy to discuss provisional government options."

Hackett put his right hand to his mouth, cupping his right elbow with his left hand. It was a thoughtful and familiar pose. One he adopted quite often. "It may be difficult to convince them to leave their fleets, Captain."

"It's important. We're going to be discussing the reapers' imminent return." John replied.

"_What_?" the Admiral demanded, suddenly fearful. His hands dropped to his sides in shock.

"Relax, sir. I need them present, and I need them attentive." John said . "I figure that'll do the trick."

Hackett stared. "Lying to them isn't going to win any respect."

John let out a small amount of sardonic laughter. "Something I learned in this war: People don't pay attention to the truth. But if you rub their bloody noses in their own damned mistakes, make them doubt their own judgment, and they'll follow you like obedient little puppies, looking for the answer."

"And you have one?" Hackett asked, his tone cold.

"I do." Shepard replied firmly. "Give them two days to lay some standing orders down and settle their affairs. Then I want them on this ship in the conference room."

Hackett sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, sir. And you'll be here too, of course. Someone has to speak for the Alliance. Shepard out."

* * *

Miranda had elected to use the secondary desk beside John's bed, leaving the coffee-stained Captain's desk to its rightful owner. She was sitting at it just then, looking over the psych profiles for the new crew of the rebranded Normandy. She found herself bored by the usual collection of near-spotless records and clean health bills, both mental and physical.

She took special interest in James Vega's file, noting the young man's actions against the collectors. What an utterly useless mission that had turned out to be, not that she disagreed with his choice to any great extent. She would have made the same one, had she been stuck in that position. But the entire mission had been too little, too late. Like the Alliance's defense towers on Horizon, to her it appeared a token mission. A vague gesture of action. An acknowledgement of the fact that the collectors were in fact on the move. Nothing more.

The fact that a Cerberus spy had been working with the collectors was the most interesting fact in the mission report, and it showed just how close Miranda had come to being on the wrong side of the fight. The organization had already begun to turn by the time the Lazarus Cell had set out for its goal. She knew that contemplations of what would have happened to her had she not resigned would haunt her in the small hours of the night, and she was privately glad that John had made his own cabin and bed available to her.

To John's credit, he had embarked on a ferocious attempt to tidy his cabin up in preparation for her return. The shirt drawer she had mentioned to him on the shuttle ride had been properly closed, with all relevant clothing folded and sorted neatly. The area behind the headboard of his bed was clean. All the books which he would inevitably fling there when he was too tired to read anymore were shelved and sorted by author.

John was one of the few people Miranda had ever met who still enjoyed reading a paperback. The center of the reading market was owned almost entirely by tablets, leaving the physical copies to the extremely expensive collectors and very specialized shops on the citadel, and the insanely cheap flea markets of Omega where those too poor to afford tablets bought and sold used physical volumes from the same constant churning collection. The latter was where John had acquired most of his small collection. She had been surprised to see it intact aboard the ship. It was a pleasant call-back to the rather uneventful afternoons they had spent together during the weeks following the collector mission.

Henry Lawson had invested in a library full of hard-cover volumes dating all the way back to the seventeenth century. It had been just for show, of course. a display of wealth and affluence, with the books being kept locked inside specially sealed, temperature-regulated bookcases. Miranda had once spent an afternoon browsing the shelves, and looking up the titles over the extranet, wondering what it felt like to hold the actual volume in her hand.

Yet John liked to own them and read them, leaving them in awful shape with torn covers, dog-eared pages, and broken spines. To her, somehow, that was better. There was no point in keeping a book unless it was to be read. John enjoyed a wide range of literature, both human and alien, with special emphasis on Turian and Asari translated texts.

His vids, on the otherhand, were a study in banality. With such engrossing titles as _Blasto Saves Christmas_, _Night of the Undead Elcor, Milk Sheik, _and _Binder_, Miranda was not at all sorry to see that the Alliance had culled his collection, which had been cut down to a quarter of a shelf.

Her personal tablet, which had been lying on the bed behind her, beeped five times in a special pattern she'd come to recognize. She immediately set the reports down and planted herself on the bed, entering both eleven-digit passcodes without a thought, entering the private chatroom.

OR: Miri!

ML: Hello Ori, how is Rannoch?

OR: Really good! I've been able to put all those colonization skills to use. The Quarians are really fascinating! But I was a little scared of the Geth at first. They're alright once you learn how to talk to them.

ML: are you safe there?

OR: Yes. I was really worried that they might start fighting again, but all the quarians who stayed behind were volunteers, and the geth are really speeding things up.

ML: I'm relieved to hear that. How are you?

OR: Not as good as you, apparently… ;)

Miranda frowned. Although she couldn't hear her sister's enthusiastic voice, she could detect the young woman's cruel, barely concealed delight.

ML: ?

OR: Just saw the documentary previews.

ML: What are you talking about?

OR: Diana Allers? John Shepard: The Story Behind the Legned

OR: *legend

OR: Stupid title. Anyway, that kiss just got posted on the battlespace. Everyone's asking about you. Even here on Rannoch. Don't worry, I haven't told them anything… yet. XD

ML: What kiss?

A link appeared. Miranda clicked it and immediately felt a sheet of cold terror flood through her as she watched John's heartfelt embrace in the hospital. It had been an exhilarating moment for both of them. A much-needed discharge of pent-up emotion and hormones. But the only thing preventing Miranda from having a complete melt-down was that the stupid reporter had enough sense to blur most of her face, with an insulting promise of a later reveal. She had to admit, the kiss did look good on camera, encapsulating all the renewed hopes, dreams, and intense relief which had heralded the end of the reaper war.

It had staying power. Unfortunantly.

ML: Oh. That kiss.

OR: Lmao, I wish I could see your face right now! It's probably bright red!

ML: How widely has it spread? Can it be taken down?

OR: Well it _is _a battle-net exclusive…

ML: Would you excuse me for a moment?

* * *

**I wanted a lighter chapter after what happened in the last one.**

**And suddenly I'm having tons of fun writing Tali… or maybe she's just channeling Garrus in that scene.**

**I'm pondering whether or not to bring in a Hannah Shepard subplot. I know this is my fic and I can do whatever the hell I want, but it sounds like an unnecessary detour. On the flipside, I'm curious what she'd make of his new attitude, not to mention Miranda. Tell me what you guys think.**


	14. Family matters: Part 1

Family Matters: Part 1

Admiral Steven Hackett took a seat at the private table. He took a sip from his steaming mug of coffee and stared across the gleaming metal surface at his guest. Her epaulettes and sleeves carried the rank of Rear Admiral, and her profile and bearing did justice to her station. She had familiar intelligent blue eyes, and a pretty face, faded with age but redeemed with laughter lines.

"Hello Steven." The woman said.

"Hannah." The Admiral replied, nodding. "Welcome aboard."

The woman smiled patiently. "I'm still waiting on the reason. Not that it isn't a pleasure to see you, of course."

"It's about your son, actually." Hackett told her.

The woman nodded, staring into the middle distance with a wistful smile. "John? It's been a very long time since I've been called in because of something he did… not since he graduated from the Alliance's training program."

"When was the last time you spoke to him?" Hackett asked.

"I sent him a message while he was working with Cerberus, but I never got a reply." She sounded unhappy. "I thought perhaps he didn't reply because Cerberus was monitoring him. Or his mission distracted him. Not that we speak much anyway. He's… independent."

"That he is." Hackett affirmed, nodding. "He's also been very busy."

"I know. I saw the mission logs. I'm the only mother in the galaxy who can claim her child lured a Thresher Maw into a fight with a Reaper. He's done some incredible things, Steven."

"I know. He's a damned miracle. And he's a paragon of all the best the Alliance has to offer." Hackett frowned. "Or he would be…"

"What has he done?"

"He's… said a few things recently. He has me worried. Publicly he's all for us, but he's unhappy with it. I'm afraid he might be planning to go rogue if things don't work out."

"Wait… _John? Going rogue?_" Hannah laughed and sat back. "You can't be serious, Steven… John is as pro-alliance as they come. We raised him properly, his father and I."

"He tried to resign."

"_Resign?_" she stared.

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

"In person…three years ago?" she shrugged "He was very busy after he became a Spectre. Then there was the business with Cerberus, and his supposed 'death'." She winced. "Those years had been…difficult. Now the Reaper war had the entire Alliance working non-stop. What has he said, exactly?"

"He's Pro-Cerberus, and showed contempt towards the Alliance." Hackett's troubled look deepened. "The last time I disagreed with him, he threatened to use his Spectre status to pull rank on me. All behind closed doors, of course, but…"

"Pro Cerberus?" Hannah Shepard's face was awash with disbelief. "The terrorists? How could he possibly support them? Especially considering his Spectre status…"

"He told me that they were the only group which stood up to the Reapers from the start, regardless of their methods. I think he blames the Alliance and the council for the civilian casualties. Says we didn't do enough to prepare."

"Well, he had been warning the galaxy for three years…" She defended fairly, looking mystified. "But to support _Cerberus_…?"

"It's as complicated as it sounds…" Hackett told her. "In _our_ defense, he never presented anything in the way of solid evidence. We weren't even sure they existed until they were actually landing on earth. On one level, I understand his point of view. He is right: We didn't do enough. The Reapers left us scrambling. We weren't ready. Not by half. But I'm really worried he's going to cause trouble, Hannah. Men like him need a target, or a goal. If they don't have one, they find it."

"And you think he'll target his own race?" she demanded, "His own Alliance blood?"

"He's not happy with us right now. I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider it a possibility." Hackett sighed. "I don't think he'd do anything to put humanity or our alliances at risk, but he's not toeing the line out of any amount of respect for the Alliance. That makes him a wildcard. Unacceptable for a PR asset."

Her face hardened. "My son is more than a poster-boy."

"Given what he's been put through for the past few years, being a poster-boy might be a welcomed break. But that's not the issue here. John Shepard is the most famous and influential face in the galaxy, and he's not _our _face. We're losing him. He trusts you. Bring him back into the fold. And if you can't do that, then at least try to find out what he's planning. I'll be departing a shuttle for the Normandy in two days. He's getting a new council together. He's organizing this whole thing himself. I don't know what to expect, but I'd very much like him to be on our side when the chips are down. His voice has a lot of weight right now, and the course of galactic history could very well hinge on his words. More so than it did after the battle of the citadel. We lost a lot, but the human race can still come out on top. He can make that happen. Just talk to him. Make sure he's on our side."

Hannah Shepard sighed. "I don't like this, Steven. He's my own son."

"And he's out of line. I'm Sorry, Hannah." Hackett's expression was one of genuine remorse, "But your son is very valuable to the Alliance."

Hannah sighed. "Alright. I'll talk to him."

"There's something else you should probably know." Hackett added, "An extra … complication."

Admiral Hannah Shepard waited patiently, preparing for the worst.

Hackett chewed his lip thoughtfully, gathering his proverbial resources before unveiling the new information. "…Her name is Miranda Lawson."

* * *

Diana smiled as she watched her ratings climb. Less than an hour since the preview, and already the amount of traffic on Battlespace had tripled, it was growing larger every time she looked. Most of the comments below the preview video pertained to either Shepard's kiss, or an extensive and in-depth argument on the ethics of Cerberus.

A surprising amount of people seemed to be paying attention to what the commander had said about the terrorists, though neither group could really settle on whether or not Shepard's experiences had reflected the entire organization. The disagreement had led to a further discussion of the ethics of the Reaper war, and whether or not Cerberus' actions were still justified even if they _had _changed from their original M.O..

But _the fans_… Shepard had amassed a cult following which seemed to extend across every major race in the galaxy. The Quarians and Krogan in particular seemed extremely fond of him. His Turian support, which had been waning over the course of the war in large part because of the full retreat from Palaven, had been bolstered by his praise of Garrus Vakarian. That prompted curiosity and a second sub-group of fans, devoted to the deceased Turian. In fact, the whole thing had led to Allers doing a separate personal profile of Garrus, presenting her own firsthand experiences with him. Though she hadn't spoken to Vakarian much, her viewers were desperately grabbing any piece of information they could find.

The only two races who did not show the regular level of support and devotion were the Asari and Salarians. The Salarians were split right down the middle because of the Genophage cure. The Asari simply didn't seem to care either way, and Diana suspected that they had been stunned into silence by the events on Thessia. They had been the most vocal during the years after the battle of the Citadel, being the first race to condemn John Shepard as a madman, and Diana was not at all sorry to see their race's collective and arrogant ego get a serious bruise. She mourned the loss of life, of course, but the Asari had never been on particularly friendly terms with humanity. Peaceful, sure. But not particularly friendly. At least the Turians had had the courtesy to see them as an enemy. But to the Asari, humanity had been… inconsequential in the grand scheme of things… and how_ wrong_ they had been…

Diana heard the door hiss open, and she smiled, expecting Shepard to walk around the corner. The Commander had been the only member of the crew to visit her on a regular basis, usually to hear her reports, but sometimes for the occasional interview. He had struck her as a friendly, charming, and outgoing man with a deep respect for the other races, and an even deeper belief in peace. He was quick on his feet, and politically savvy, able to dodge and shoot down difficult questions, though she'd known that since before he had allowed her on board. Kalisah Bint Sinan Aljilani had been one of Diana's associates, and the Commander had handed her ass to her on no less than three different occasions.

Yet it wasn't Shepard who stepped through the door, but his dark-haired beauty from the hospital. She was wearing an alliance uniform, completely unmarked, and Allers had to admit, the woman looked incredible in it, though it didn't bring that aspect forward in quite the same way her white catsuit had done.

Her name was Miranda Lawson. Diana had done some digging on her after the hospital moment, but hadn't been able to find much at all besides a name. Miranda had some connection to Cerberus, but what kind of connection, and how exactly she had ended up with the newly-minted Captain Shepard were anyone's guess. Diana was good at guessing, but she was also a journalist, not a tabloid reporter, and when it came to personal stories, she refused to post anything but facts. None of the Normandy's crew had been particularly forthcoming, but the older members including Doctor Chakwas and Garrus had been extremely tight-lipped about his time with Cerberus. Only Williams had been willing to grant Diana a full interview, and it turned out that the lieutenant-commander hadn't really known anything about Shepard's adventures after the original Normandy had been blown up. The subject of relationships had been bluntly shot down.

Allers had caught a certain kind of tension between Williams and Shepard, and had made a few assumptions of her own. If he had broken up with Williams for Lawson, that would have given a lot of context to an awful lot of quiet and covert conversations.

All guesses and assumptions would have to wait, though. Lawson was standing before her. Stalk still, arms crossed and a furious expression on her face. Diana had the distinct impression that the woman was waiting for something. She looked ready to kill, and Allers had a sneaking suspicion that the woman knew how.

Diana smiled disarmingly. It had no effect whatsoever. "Can I help you?"

"You posted a video of what happened in the hospital?" the woman asked sharply.

"Captain Shepard gave me permission to post a preview. He's promised some interviews later to tell me the whole story…" that was a half-truth. Shepard had only intended her to post his three answers, not the kiss. And the story he had intended to tell was of Sovereign and the Reapers, not his romance. But it had been too iconic an image to resist teasing her audience with.

"I'm sure he did." The woman leaned down and began to type into Allers' terminal. "But probably not about us."

"Hey!" Diana made to rush forward, but couldn't. Miranda's body was suddenly bathed in the subtle biotic glow, as was Diana's. Her muscles wouldn't move no matter how hard she tried. To her horror, she realized she was frozen in place. It felt like being imbedded in a wall. She couldn't even yell for help. Not that anyone would hear her. She had picked this quiet, untraveled section of the ship for a reason…

"Stasis field." The woman said dismissively, not even bothering to look at Allers. She took a seat in front of Diana's computer, easily hacking the password. The woman scrolled through her files, running simultaneous searches, and deleting all copies of the video from the computer, the extra-net site, and Diana's backup tablets.

That didn't worry Diana though. She kept extra backed-up hard-drives in a secret container under her bed, having fully expected the Alliance to seize all relevant materials as soon as the war was finished. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Miranda Lawson spoke while she worked, her accent sharp and crisp. "You shouldn't use family member's names as your passwords. It makes your terminals pitifully easy to hack. Use multiple encrypted codes. Minimum of ten digits long. Mixtures of upper and lower-case letters, numbers, and symbols preferably from a variety of different languages including Drell and Krogan. If you can't be bothered to remember them, you deserve to get hacked. It's one of my pet peeves about John. He hasn't the sense to bother with proper electronic security."

After she had finished, she stood up and logged out of Diana's terminal. She slowly walked over to the reporter and stood for a moment, examining her. "Something has to be understood in no uncertain terms: I am not to be made a public figure. Not yet, and not like that. I've made too many enemies. The sort that keep grudges. And it's not just my own life you're putting at risk. Yours and your family's as well, along with everyone else connected with the video. Shepard, his friends and family. Those wounded marines in the background, and their families as well. Everyone who was there that day is at risk for as long as that video exists. The number of reviews you get isn't worth that, so use some goddamned judgment next time."

Lawson turned and made to leave, but stopped and turned back. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Diana's impassive face. "You aren't worried enough." She said after a few moments. "Which means this has happened before. And you're bright… you'd have made extra backups." she pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, and then disappeared behind Diana. Allers did her best to turn, but the field was still holding her in place, forcing her to stare helplessly at the wall opposite her door.

The woman came back into view holding Diana's secret backups. She spread them out in front of Diana, watching the reporter's eyes carefully.

"One of these hard-drives has the hospital footage on it…" she guessed, and smiled as Diana's eyes flickered involuntarily towards the disc on the far left. Miranda Lawson reached down to the second disc from the right and slid it into her pocket, leaving Allers impressed; the woman had chosen the correct disc. The Australian gave her a bored look. "Of course it wouldn't be the one you look at. It wouldn't be the one furthest from it either. I'm not an amateur. And this one-" she tapped the second from the left "-is too new. The obvious target. I'll be keeping the only copy until you've cleared things up with John."

Diana stared at her in astonishment. She tried to open her mouth, wanting to ask a question. One question. But her opponent had already guessed it. "Miranda Lawson. The Normandy's new executive officer. If you feel the urge to post anything else about John and I without our permission, I'd suggest you consider that what I just did to you was the polite option. I'm not going to say any more. If you want to clear this up, talk to John. Try not to scream for help as soon as that stasis field fades. No need to embarrass yourself."

Then she was gone.

* * *

\

Miranda stepped back into the loft to find John on the bed, typing into her private tablet. Her jaw dropped. "_What the hell are you doing?_"

"Talking to Oriana." He replied, waving it vaguely. He gave her a pleasant smile disarming enough to take the edge off her anger. "I hope you don't mind… she seems really nice. Younger, but as smart as you are. I'm glad you're back in contact with her."

Miranda sighed and waved her arm, using her biotics to pull the tablet from John's unresisting grasp. It landed in her palm and she minimized the conversation, searching her other files for access logs. He hadn't touched a thing aside from interacting with Oriana. The conversation itself was a series of banal pop-culture discussions stemming from an early mention of Vaenia. Apparently it was a movie they shared an appreciation for, albeit for different reasons. That aside, Oriana had made a few less than subtle inquiries into her sister's relationship, but John had dodged them effectively enough. Nothing had been put at risk.

She walked down the stairs, pulling out Allers' hard drive and handing it to him before she took a seat at her desk. He examined it for a moment, confused. Then the realization dawned. "Ahh… the kiss, right? Oriana mentioned it." He shook his head. "Allers was out of line there. I'll have a talk with her later."

"I already did, and then some…." Miranda typed a quick goodbye into the tablet and closed the conversation. She glanced back at John and noted the new bruise on his face. "What happened to you? The gorilla downstairs?"

"No, not James. Tali." John rubbed the red mark.

"She's been making a lot of friends lately." Miranda observed, glaring at her desk.

"As have you." John held up the hard-drive. "That uniform hasn't even been through the laundry yet, Miranda." He chastised. "I was expecting you to be a little harder on the crew maybe… but Allers? What did you do to her, exactly?"

"Scared her and nipped a serious problem in the bud. Thank god Ori keeps minute tabs on any news related to either of us… As for my treatment of Allers, I have no doubt she's been a useful PR tool." Miranda said, "But… really, John? You and I can't afford that kind of issue. How many angry batarian terrorists are out there looking for your weak link?"

"My god… you're right." John grinned, "I'm going to have to warn Chakwas to watch her back."

Miranda smiled. "You know what I mean, John."

"I do." He admitted. "But you're not my weak link, Miri."

"It doesn't have to be a physical attack, John." Miranda replied, opening her own computer. "You know who I was. They could use me to discredit you. You'd lose political clout and Alliance backing, which you've managed to damage enough on your own, I might add… My presence could make things very difficult for you."

As she typed away, John sighed, staring into the glass case which contained his model ships. He said, "Do you remember when we met on the citadel? After earth had been attacked?"

"I do."

"Do you remember what I said?" he continued. "Things will never be easy, but I'll always want you in my life. Nothing's changed now that the war is over."

She paused in mid word and smiled radiantly down at her keyboard. "I feel the same way, John."

"I'm glad to hear it."

The door beeped and Miranda pressed a button on her keyboard. "It's Allers."

"Come in!" John called out.

The reporter shuffled nervously into his office. She spotted Miranda and froze.

"Relax, Diana." John slipped off the bed and walked over to join her in his office area. "She's not that bad. You two just got off on the wrong foot."

"Understatement of the year."

"Not an understatement." Miranda observed from her desk. "Things could have been a lot worse."

"In the hospital you mentioned wanted an interview about the Reapers?" John cut them off before either of them could exacerbate things.

"Well I _did_." Allers admitted, her eyes drawn to the Australian woman. "But now…"

"Miranda and I…" John thought for a moment. "Look, a lot of this galaxy's wounds are still too fresh for many people to be okay with us. We're not ready yet. I don't know exactly what Miranda did, but…" he smiled slightly. "You look no worse for wear. And she was protecting herself and those closest to her, me included. I know you didn't realize this when you posted that video, but those images were dangerous." He let out another smile. "And I wasn't exactly thinking straight when I marched across the hospital floor at any rate. But please don't do this again… not without asking us first. Please?"

"I won't, but why?" Diana shook her head. "Who is she? You can't ask me to give up this story without answers, Shepard."

John glanced back and Met Miranda's gaze. The two of them communicated in a silent discussion. The Captain won. He turned back to Allers. "She was a Cerberus Operative. Fairly high-ranking. Privy to a lot of very dangerous information. A lot of groups out there would like nothing better than to have her head on a spike. And they'll go through friends and family to do it."

Allers let out a long breath, watching Miranda. "But… she's with you, right? Surely that's some protection…?"

"It is." John smiled slightly. "One of those groups is the Alliance."

"And how did you two-?" Diana was cut off-mid sentence by EDI.

The AI's blue avatar sprang forth from her console beside them. "Captain Shepard, your presence is requested on the bridge."

John frowned. "Why? What's going on?"

"We're being hailed." The AI replied. "By the SSV Orizaba."

"The Orizaba?" Shepard stared at the AI's projection. He blinked and looked back at Allers. "I'm sorry; I've got to get down there. We'll discuss this later, okay? Just hold off on the videos."

* * *

**So I made a few changes to the last chapter. The leaked footage subplot was changed from "Viral" to "Just Posted" for a variety of reasons, the most important of which was the fact that "Just posted" was the only option allowing me to continue. My muse just wasn't responding to the other.**

**As for the Allers scene, writing characters like Miranda is so much fun. It might not have been the most diplomatic option, but I wanted to put her in her element, so to speak.**

**I also changed the amount of time before the new council arrives. It's going to be the big finish of the story, so I wanted to get a few other things done first (very obviously).**

**I'm not entirely sure how well this chapter turned out. I like it personally, but tell me if you guys spot any real problems.**


	15. Family matters: Part 2

Family Matters: Part 2

Miranda watched John stepped up the dais. She could hear the voice of the Orizaba's pilot over the radio, talking with Joker. "This is the SSV Orizaba, requesting permission to dock with the Normandy."

"Request acknowledged, Orizaba." Joker replied. "Mind telling me why?"

There was a pause, then, "Admiral Shepard wants to conduct a security inspection, in preparation for the upcoming summit."

"Permission to board granted." Shepard said. "Tell Admiral Shepard her son says hello."

"Roger that, Normandy. We'll be alongside in twenty."

John stared into the galaxy map and let out a long breath. "I suppose I should change." He was dressed in a light civilian uniform. Jeans and a black and red leather jacket with the N7 insignia emblazoned on the chest. He wore a simple v-neck white shirt underneath. It looked good on him, Miranda had to admit, and she envied him. The standard uniform could be… uncomfortable. But nothing less would do, for an Admiral's inspection.

She frowned. "When was the last time you spoke to your mother, John?"

"…Three years?" he replied. "God… has it really been three?"

"You've been busy." Miranda murmured, her frown deepening.

"Miri?"

She reached up the dais and pulled gently on his jacket, leading him into the corner, away from the listening yeoman. "Something isn't right." Miranda muttered quietly. "Stay careful, John."

"What? She's my own mother, Miranda." He replied. He frowned slightly. "I guess you and I'll have to break some news to her… is that what you're worried about?"

Miranda shook her head. "There's an ulterior motive. Why would they send _her _on an inspection? Especially a supposed security inspection in preparation for a diplomatic event? She is nor impartial. But she's an excellent way to disarm _you_."

"So…what? Hackett is suddenly plotting against me? A little paranoid, don't you think?"

"I don't like it." She told him firmly. "Something is wrong. Don't let your guard down."

"What are you expecting?" he asked.

"Some very difficult questions…" she sighed, staring into space. "You scared Hackett during your promotion ceremony. That conversation afterwards… this is a follow-up to that. It's not an inspection of the Normandy, it's an inspection of you."

"And what happens if I fail to pass muster?"

"I don't know. But it might be a good idea to knuckle under for this one, John."

"I'm not going to compromise, Miranda." He replied. "I didn't at the Collector base, I didn't when talking to the catalyst, and I'm not going to do it now. I've got nothing to hide. Besides, they can't touch me. I'm too high profile."

"I wouldn't bank on the galaxy's goodwill forever, John." Miranda warned him. "The public has a very short memory, and they're unforgiving. I'll be right back."

* * *

The docking bay was empty when she arrived down there. Miranda paused as she exited the elevator. She activated her omnitool and hacked into James Vega's browsing history and message folders. There was nothing of very much interest in there. A few messages to other members of the crew, inquiries into a missing uncle. His browsing history consisted of weapons and armour extra-net sites, a few forums including Haliat Armory and Aeghor munitions, a pay-per-view movie database, and a small amount of relatively tasteful asari pornography. Nothing there indicated any clandestine orders from Alliance command. Not recently. The most recent alliance message was an update on his N7 nomination, and it had come before the battle for earth. The boy was clean. Relatively trustworthy. On such short notice, she couldn't afford to be picky.

She stalked silently across the floor and came to a halt a few feet behind the marine. She cleared her throat. The young man turned and took a step back, intimidated. She knew why of course, and to his credit, he was trying his very best to keep his eyes above her neckline. Failing, but trying. Miranda had spent much of her time undercover being devoured by the imaginations of men with no sense of respect. Meeting a marine who at least made the attempt, counted for something.

John himself hadn't fared all that much better during the first month of the collector mission. But she hadn't minded his attention as much, so everything had worked out alright.

"How loyal are you to John Shepard?" she asked.

James shrugged. "He's my commanding officer. The best one I've ever had. Not to mention a friend. I've been beside him during some of the hardest fights of my life. Why?"

"Good. Rear Admiral Hannah Shepard is about to board for an inspection of our ship. I want you waiting with us in the combat information center. You are to be armed, but discreet. Can you do that?"

"Admiral Shepard? That's-"

"Shepard's mother." She nodded. "She's not your target. There'll be a few marines escorting her. I want you to watch them. If they touch anything. Talk to anyone. If they so much as cough, I want you to tell me where and when. Watch for bugs they might try to place. Transmitters. Monitoring devices. Can you do that?"

James stared at her. "You're a little paranoid, aren't you, Legs?"

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"Ma'am." He corrected, and saluted for good measure, trying to suppress a grimace. "I'll do my best."

She could have left it there, but the man looked ill at ease with the idea of distrusting his fellow marines, and Miranda knew why: Spying on comrades was not something the Alliance drilled into its cannon fodder. Trust was essential on a battlefield, and the things she was suggesting wouldn't even occur to Vega. In the beginning, they hadn't occurred to John either. But he had learned… oh, how he had learned…

She said, "You want to know why..."

"You're damned right."

She raised her eyebrow again, and he drew himself up to attention, forcing himself to look straight ahead.

"Hackett is suspicious of John's motives, and wanted to send someone who knows him." Miranda told him.

"Why would he be suspicious…?" Vega's brows knotted together as he tried to work his way through this new territory. "I dunno. I thought those two were tight."

"Shepard is a high-profile officer with a lot of influence both at home and abroad. He also sees alien interests as equal to humanity's. He's unbiased. That means others will want to keep a close eye on him."

"Oh, come on! That's why he won the war!" James defended.

"Exactly." Miranda replied. "He won it. Now the game has changed. The focus has shifted from a military exercise to a political and economic one. Don't think for a second that Hackett sending Shepard's mother wasn't a political move."

"He's Shepard! What could they possibly want to do to him?"

"Spy on him. Turn him into a lapdog and a trophy. He's the Alliance's single greatest asset right now, and they'd want to see that he stays in line."

"But… he saved the galaxy." Vega tried.

"Those kind of heroics didn't stop them from locking him away in Vancouver for six months when the Reapers were coming, did it? They did their best to discredit him then. Because politically it was the best move."

"But…" Vega scowled, "Bugs? Spying? Lies? Politics? This is all backroom stuff! We don't get caught up in that! We're the good guys! We're not Cerberus!"

Miranda burst out in a fit of laughter. "You're a poor, naive fool, Vega. And I envy you."

She watched as angry confusion flooded the young man's face.

"Where do you think Cerberus got the funding to build an army? A fleet?" She waited a few moments for an answer, but never received one. She sighed. "From the xenophobes in the Alliance's military-industrial complex, of course. Where did the interior command structure of Cerberus cells come from? Alliance Command structure. Their initial contacts and information networks? Alliance admirals and their lieutenants, bucking for promotion. They would of course be fast-tracked depending on how much useful intel was provided. Cerberus recruits? Alliance personnel. What about Cerberus' standing orders? Protect humanity and serve its advancement… Cerberus _was _the Alliance, Lieutenant Vega. Ying and Yang. Heads and Tails. Humanity's foul underbelly. Two sides of the same damned coin. Don't think otherwise. Not for a second. The Reapers forced everyone to lay their cards on the table, but that's not how things normally work. John wants to keep it that way, and that's not in the Alliance's best interests. Wars can be won or lost, lives made or broken in the blink of an eye when things get political."

"This is…" James shook his head. "I wasn't trained for Political."

"I know you weren't. But there's no way you can escape it. You're a young man, Vega. A lieutenant who's served on the Normandy. You have job prospects. A career ahead of you." She leaned in slightly. "So consider this a favor: Never doubt those facts, and never let your guard down. The moment you do, your career will be over."

"How?"

"Dirt." Miranda said. "Information. Do you have any idea how easy it would be for anyone ruin on you completely?" She activated her omnitool again, and brought up his browsing history. "Hmm… Haliat Armory? Aeghor Munitions? Asari Pornography…" As she listed off his browsing history, his face slowly turned white. "Add a small amount of PR spin and it looks to me like we have an alien sympathizer in our midst. Are we sure we want him climbing the ranks? We don't want the Turians running our military. Or the Salarians."

"That's private!" he declared furiously.

"Nothing on the extra-net is private, Vega." She cut him off. "Nothing written is private! Nothing said is private! Nothing done is private! Not even your thoughts are private. Especially not when the Asari are involved. You watched their porn. You're attracted to them. Just like everybody else. The difference? You're an Alliance officer on the most important ship in the fleet. One bedroom encounter and they know _all _your secrets. Alliance passcodes, fleet manifests. Fleet locations and clandestine operations. Standing orders. Strategies. And then they need a few credits and sell it to an information broker and then it's _anyone's _information!"

"What if she's loyal to me?" James asked. "I wouldn't do that with a girl who'd sell me out…"

"Then she's tortured for it." Miranda replied without hesitation. "Or she tricked you, more likely. And all of the Alliance's secrets are common knowledge. The Salarians know, and they tell the Turians and before you know it, you're being dishonorably discharged in order to prevent a war. Turned over to the Turians as a scapegoat. Through no fault of your own."

James swallowed, looking very depressed and even more worried. He was angry as well, but the sharp edge had been blunted by the nature of the new information.

"It's all a game, Vega." She told him sadly. "Just a vicious bloody game. Why do you think Williams got promoted to Spectre? Because she was honorable. Just like you. Honorable people are easy to manipulate, and Udina needed an obedient pet for his coup attempt. Someone naive enough to gamble all of her chips on the 'trustworthy' authority figures. The only people you can truly trust are those who have as much at stake in your success as you do. Shepard trusted Anderson. Their careers were connected that way. When John was popular, Anderson was popular."

"And Loco and me are the same?" Vega asked. "That's why I should spy on my own people?"

"You can trust John Shepard because he hates the whole _bloody system_! And _that's_ why Hackett is nervous; Hackett and his admirals are as much a part of it as the Illusive Man was, though they'd be the first to deny it. It's not always a bad thing, but they want humanity on top, and they aren't fools. The machine is damaged, Mister Vega. The Reapers made it irrelevant. And it wouldn't take more than a push to knock it over. John is capable of delivering that push, and Hackett knows it. This inspection is not of the Normandy, but of Shepard, and if they can't keep him in line, they'll find a way to take him down again."

"And you think his own mother would do it?"

"I think his own mother would present her honest findings to Hackett, trusting the man to take care of her son. But I'm not sure she'd tell him what he wants to hear. And I certainly don't trust anyone else who comes aboard with her. John is an honest man. And he speaks his mind. For a soldier, that's admirable. For a politician, it's trouble. Admirals are both which is why the Alliance bows to political pressure. If John causes trouble, they'll take him down, and now's the perfect time for them to start building a file against him as insurance. Just in case."

"That's…" Vega shook his head in disbelief. "He deserves better than that."

"He does." She agreed. "Which is why I want the extra pair of eyes. Armed, and discreet, Mister Vega. You have ten minutes. Admiral Shepard's shuttle docks in twenty."

* * *

The door to Liara's quarters slid open, and for the second time, Miranda stepped inside her former office. She knew immediately by the Asari's stance and expression that Liara knew what was happening. She was staring down at her console, her eyes glazed over.

"Goddess, Miranda." Liara said, "Hannah Shepard… He must have really scared them…"

"I think he did." Miranda nodded. "You and I both know how this works, Liara. Any suggestions?"

"Keep her escort confined to the CIC. Make them talk to Traynor, and perhaps have Chakwas 'accidently' pay them a visit. Definitely not EDI or Joker. Or me. Also, have Admiral Shepard shown to the war room first."

Miranda chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Good idea. The scanner will pick up any transmitters. She's likely to ask John some difficult questions, and…"

"…and he'll answer them honestly." Liara finished, "We don't want anyone listening in when he lauds Cerberus."

"I'll have EDI recalibrate it. I already sent James Vega up to watch her escort and make sure they don't plant anything."

Liara cracked a humorless smile. "I can't imagine he was very happy with that…"

"He knows the score and he's loyal to John."

Liara nodded. "As for John, it's your job to keep him in line, Miranda. I'll take care of the rest of it. Though I'd appreciate it if you'd keep them out of my office."

"I will. She'll suspect me of manipulating him..." Miranda told her.

"Yes she will. The only way to counter that is to sit them down and let John explain himself." Liara turned to her. "She's going to attack you, you know."

"I know."

"Can you keep your temper."

"I have it under control."

* * *

Shepard had arranged for a few idle alliance officers to line up beside the main airlock in some semblance of a proper reception. He had neglected to change out of his civilian clothes, and Miranda found herself running through a long list of possible excuses, the most plausible of which was simply doctors orders. After all, he was still healing, and the Alliance uniform was not conducive to that. He looked composed. Much calmer than she had expected, considering the identity of his expected guest.

Miranda herself had chosen to stand beside him. She was nervous, though no one would ever guess it from looking at her. Aside from the obvious issue of being put under the Alliance's microscope, she was also about to undergo an examination by John's mother. Due to her background, Miranda knew that the deck was already stacked against her, but there was still a small, girlish part of her which hoped the woman would approve of her son's choice. The irony made her smile grimly. Despite everything, she hadn't quite managed to throw off the shackles of parental opinion.

James joined them a few minutes later, looking sour but alert. John gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything. They could hear Joker's voice over the intercom. "The Orizaba will have soft seal in three… two… one…touchdown!"

The ship shuddered slightly, throwing the greeting party momentarily off-balance.

"Admiral Hannah Shepard requesting permission to board." Joker announced.

"Permission granted." John barked, drawing himself up into a salute. "Ten-hut!"

Miranda didn't salute, but she brought herself up to attention. There was a few seconds of uncertainty, and hiss of air pumps. Then the airlock door opened, and for the first time in three and a half years, John Shepard saw his mother.


	16. Family matters: Part 3

Family Matters: Part 3

Admiral Hannah Shepard was long past middle-age, but not quite 'elderly' yet. She had John's eyes. Or –Miranda smiled to herself- John had his mother's eyes. The woman's hair wasn't quite gray at the temples, and it was obvious that John had also inherited her hair color. The Admiral was wearing a stern, yet not unkind expression, and certainly carried herself like an officer.

More difference between the two Shepards became immediately apparent. John's bearing and expression was that of a friend, brother and ally, someone you could tell your troubles to and trust implicitly. Someone who gained respect through action. Admiral Hannah Shepard carried herself with the air of a strict teacher. Someone who relied on the authority granted her, and expected her subordinates to fall in line automatically or be reprimanded. Questioning this woman's orders would result in severe penalties. Miranda wondered if John's desire to lead through respect, and by example, was following his father's methods, or a reaction to his mother's.

Admiral Shepard was flanked by a pair of swarthy Alliance officers with stern expressions and spotless uniforms. They were both armed, and Miranda found herself planning how best to execute them. Chain an overload burst to incapacitate. Buys three seconds. Plenty of time. Warp left target and deliver a side-kick to stomach, knocking him back. Strike to eyes, throat, and stomach of right target. Break neck. Steal pistol. Two headshots, and hold Admiral hostage as collateral.

John had brought himself up to attention with a text-book Alliance salute, just like every other Alliance marine beside him. The Admiral returned the salute, and smiled warmly, her cold, official bearing disintegrating. "Put your arm down, John."

John obeyed and embraced her. The small family shared a moment of happy reunion. He stepped backwards and gestured at Miranda. "Welcome aboard the Normandy, mother. This is Miranda Lawson, my executive officer."

The very moment Hannah's eyes fell on Miranda, all the warmth she had saved for John disappeared. Miranda had a brief flashback to her father. The way Henry had stared at her. Like a machine, or a painting, with each component being picked out, evaluated, and judged. Hannah was watching her with the same expression, and Miranda found herself privately thankful that she'd had practice dealing with that kind of examination. It tended to leave people in pieces, and was a difficult thing to recover from.

"Oh yes," the Admiral said quietly. "The Cerberus Operative. Steven briefed me."

"Former." John corrected, trying to ignore his mother's tone.

Hannah turned to the nearest member of the greeting party, which happened to be James Vega. In another world, the sight would have been comical. In another world. As it was, Vega stood a full foot above the woman's head, and was twice her width yet the Admiral still managed to somehow be bigger than he was. Miranda noted the bulky lieutenant's new jacket, and the suspiciously shaped lump underneath his left arm.

"You, Marine!" the Admiral barked, "What is your name?"

James brought himself into a second salute. "Vega, ma'am. Lieutenant James Vega."

"And are you comfortable, having a Cerberus Operative as your commanding officer, Lieutenant Vega?"

"Former." John cut in, harshly. Miranda grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"2IC. And Yes, Ma'am." Vega answered.

"The_ correct _answer for any self-respecting Alliance officer," Hannah admonished, "Is 'No', Mister Vega."

"Due respect, I've seen a lot of strange things during this war, Ma'am. And if I've learned anything at all, it's that nothing is ever that simple. If it wasn't for her, we never would have found Cronos station. And Shepard vouches for her. I trust her, Ma'am."

The Admiral stood back, surprised by Vega's polite defiance. She turned and marched over to Miranda. The Admiral stood in front of her, legs spread, hands behind her back. "What is your rank, Cerberus?"

"Lawson." Miranda corrected coldly. "Specialist Lawson."

"Specialist?" The Admiral eyed her. "And how many Alliance officers have you murdered in cold blood?"

"Don't answer that, Lawson." John ordered.

"Yes sir." Miranda obeyed. They both knew that any answer would bring more trouble than it was worth. Even so, Miranda itched to present the truth: eight assassinations, twenty-seven marines in self-defense (most of them during an alliance raid on one of her cells), and six while evading capture. Miranda was quite proud of the numbers. They were extremely small, considering the amount and type of work she had been doing.

John confronted his mother. "Admiral Shepard, if you want to criticize my staffing choices, we'll do it in private."

Miranda glanced past Hannah. The Admiral's two escorts had discreetly sidled off in the direction of the CIC. James was watching them very closely, and Miranda felt a surge of malicious pleasure to see that they were extremely unhappy with the attention. When they ventured too far away, he made to follow.

"Fall back in formation, Marine!" Admiral Shepard ordered.

"Do what you want, James." John countermanded. He turned to the rest of the greeting party. "It's about lunchtime, right? Everyone fall out. Get something to eat."

The Marines disbursed without saluting, immediately falling into an untamed gaggle, making its way towards the elevator. Miranda stepped politely past the admiral and barked at the crew. They straightened immediately. He intention in delaying them was two-fold. Firstly, it bought James more to time clear through the hallway, enabling him to keep his eyes on the Alliance officers, and secondly she wanted to show the Admiral that Vega was not the only one who respected her command.

"I expect you to be at your stations by thirteen hundred hours!" she announced, her voice echoing down the wide corridor. "Anyone left eating in the cafeteria will be assigned extra PT workouts with Lieutenant Vega. Understood?"

"Yes Ma'am!" the marines saluted her.

"Dismissed." Miranda barked again. The group departed, much faster than before; They were being given an hour break and didn't want to waste it. The action left Miranda alone with the two Shepards.

John put a gentle hand on his mother's shoulder and gestured towards the CIC. "Shall we?"

The woman pulled away from his grasp. She said, "Hackett told me about the two of you."

"What did he say, exactly?" John asked.

"Something about building a life?" Hannah shook her head at him in amazement. "John… she's Cerberus!"

"Former." He replied firmly.

"And our personal life is not the purpose of this inspection." Miranda intoned carefully. "… is it?"

"Look, mother, I would love to sit down with you and talk." John said earnestly. "There are a thousand stories I would love to tell! You have no idea! And the sooner we get this inspection done, the sooner we can actually talk. But there are two things you should know right off the bat…" He straightened up. "One: I stand by the decisions I made as Captain of the Normandy. Reinstating Miranda Lawson as executive officer is one of them. She already knows this ship, and half its crew from the Collector mission. Two: this woman saved my life many times over, in more ways than you could believe. I know you don't like Cerberus, but you're going to have to put up with her, because whether you approve or not, she_ isn't _going away."

Hannah stared at each of them in turn.

"Plenty of Cerberus personnel defected to the Alliance over the course of this war." John added gently. "And I watched her quit before it even started."

Hannah turned back to Miranda. Her tone was less openly hostile, but she was definitely unhappy with her son's decision. "Why did you quit?"

"The Illusive Man ordered me to kill John." Miranda answered immediately. "It wasn't an order I could follow in good conscience."

* * *

Miranda marched through the door to the security checkpoint, making sure she arrived before the Shepards. She had some time; John was giving his mother a tour of the CIC. Thus far, he'd taken Miranda's advice to heart, acting like an exemplary alliance officer. He'd said and done nothing truly suspicious. Not enough to incriminate him. Traynor was being questioned, and the naïve young woman was accidently making a better case for him than John himself ever could.

Miranda had been right: to the alliance, the former Cerberus operative appeared as Shepard's blind spot. His only blind spot. The man knew his job, his crew, his ship, and his mission, and was able to dodge and justify every point his mother had managed to raise so far. Added to James' constant and unrelenting surveillance preventing Hannah's associates from carrying out their private orders, and it looked as though everything was going to turn out all right.

Miranda addressed the two marines guarding the scanner. "Out!"

They stared at each other uncertainly, and then filed out into the CIC. Miranda took her place behind the security console and deactivated the alarms. The machine would still let her know if it caught anything, but there wouldn't be any flashing lights to alert the Admiral, or John.

After a short while, John led his mother through the door. She shot Miranda another dirty look. But that was to be expected, and was ignored with extreme prejudice. Back in the CIC, she watched as Vega blocked the Admiral's associates from following.

"Sorry boys." He said, "You don't have permission to go back there."

"We're escorting the Admiral." One of them argued.

"Her _son _is escorting her." Vega replied evenly, towering over them. He produced the pistol hidden under his jacket and held it loosely in his hand. "Now, are you going to be a problem? I knew a krogan once. His name was Urdnot Grunt. Had some very interesting ideas on how to deal with problems..."

Miranda was unable to catch their reply before the door slid shut.

John stepped into the security scanner first and let it clear him. He paused through to the other side, waiting for his mother. She followed, with a worried look. As the scanner did its work, Miranda watched the screen carefully. To her mild satisfaction, and disappointment, a silent alarm flickered across the screen. The admiral had a listening device planted on the inside of her lapel. Probably transmitting live to the Orizaba, and beyond. How many admirals had been listening in? How many of them were scared? And, a possibility Miranda had not thus far considered, did Hannah Shepard know?

"John, perhaps you'd better go through first and make sure everything's ready for the admiral." Miranda suggested blankly. "I'll stay here and show her our security measures."

"Why would he have to do that?" Hannah asked suspiciously.

"Because it's a mess back there. Wires and boxes, loose cords…" John shook his head, trusting Miranda's lead. "It's not in any state for an inspection." He walked out, leaving Miranda and Hannah alone together.

Before the Admiral could speak, Miranda had darted around the side of the security console and pulled the listening device from the woman's lapel, crushing it with her biotics. "You'll get a hail from the Alliance. Shortly, I expect." She said sourly.

Hannah glared at her, suddenly worried. "I'm an admiral, Miss Lawson. I don't know how you got my son on your side, but if you're going to kill me, you'd better do it fast. Right now a team of marines are being assembled on the Orizaba as we speak. They won't bother hailing. They'll just board."

"Kill you?" Miranda laughed. "That's not how I operate."

"I _know _how Cerberus operates. Rear Admiral Kahoku was a good friend of mine."

"And I know how the Aliiance operates. I'm protecting John." Miranda replied, sidestepping the verbal jab. "And they _will_ hail first whether you gave orders or not. It will come through the Orizaba from Admiral Hackett."

"Hackett?" Hannah's eyes narrowed further, and Miranda detected hints of genuine confusion. "Why? He's not monitoring this directly; he sent me here to give him a report on the state of security."

Miranda smiled "And did we pass?" she asked. "This is Hackett's operation, and you're just another goddamned pawn. He's investigating John, not the ship. He knew where your priorities lie. And how you feel about me. If you want to protect your son, you'll call your marines off, finish this inspection, and file a report that paints us in a decent light."

Joker's voice flooded the loudspeaker. "The Orizaba is requesting an update from Admiral Shepard. Top priority."

Miranda made to answer, reaching up to her earpiece, but the Admiral beat her to it. "What do you mean by 'top priority'?"

"It's coming straight from Admiral Hackett, Mom." Joker answered. "Ma'am, I mean."

"Tell him…" Hannah's glare intensified, which made Miranda's smile widen. "Tell him everything's alright. Confirmation code: AHS-572."

"Roger roger." Joker replied.

Hannah lowered her hand and stared at the former Cerberus operative.

"Still feel like the Alliance has the moral high ground?" Miranda asked sweetly, sliding the broken device into her pocket.

"I'm sure Steven has a good reason." Hannah forced the response out through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure he thinks so, too. Now put on a smile." Miranda ordered. "John's coming back."

Sure enough, the door to the war room slid open. John was standing there, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He addressed Hannah first. "We get a call from the Orizaba right when you're going through the security checkpoint? I don't buy it, _Mom_." He moved forward and gently but firmly grabbed the Admiral's uniform, patting it down. Ignoring her protests, he searched her pockets, and the inside of her jacket, including both lapels. When his search turned up nothing, he took a few steps backwards, looking sheepish and ashamed. "Am I getting too paranoid, Miranda?"

"She's your mother, John." Miranda reminded him gently, meeting Hannah's eye. "I'm sure she wouldn't do anything to hurt you." She looked back at him. "I can't say the same for her entourage, however."

"Which is why you called James up to keep an eye on them…" John stood back, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus, I never would have... Thanks Miri." He met his mother's eyes. "I'm sorry, mom."

"It's alright, John." The admiral said, keeping herself impressively restrained. "I'd expect that kind of paranoia after working with Cerberus."

"Yeah, well…" his voice sobered up a little, growing harsher. "I've learned to use that level of paranoia when working with _anybody_… But I trust Miranda." he grinned and turned to his lover. "Did I ever tell you about Mordin's warning?"

"No, Commander."

"I'll tell you later." He promised. "It gave me a good laugh."

"It can wait." Miranda replied.

As he showed his mother into the war room, Miranda felt the weight of the broken transmitter burning a hole in her pocket. She let herself fall into autopilot as she considered ways to dispose of it without informing John.


	17. Family matters: Part 4

Family Matters: Part 4

The rest of the briefing and war room inspection went off without a hitch. Despite her misgivings about his choices, Admiral Shepard cared deeply about both her son, and her relationship with him. That meant that Miranda held all the cards, and Hannah knew it. If the Admiral stepped out of line, Miranda could pull out the broken transmitter, and then John would never trust his own mother, or anyone else in the Alliance, again.

Not that Miranda ever wanted to do that to him. She hadn't kept the device secret on the Admiral's behalf, but on John's. The man was happier than Miranda had seen him in quite a while. It looked as though things between himself and the Alliance were finally going to be repaired, and she had no intention of ruining that if at all possible. Even so, it was an option, and both women knew it.

They arrived back in the CIC to find the Admiral's escorts looking hassled, but relieved. James had done away with any semblance of discretion. The men were standing against the wall near the elevator. Their pistols had been confiscated, and their uniforms were ruffled. Miranda regretted the move, as it was an inflammatory gesture. She wasn't entirely sure whether the two men were loyal to Hackett, or to Admiral Shepard. Depending upon who they truly answered to, James' treatment of them could end up being the second major black mark on John's record.

"Ma'am?" one of them asked cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." The Admiral answered. "What happened?"

"Well that hail from the Orizaba…" one of them said, "And we thought…"

"You thought what?" John asked, standing behind her. "She's my mother,."

"And she's aboard the SSV Normandy. There is no safer place in the galaxy." James added.

"Would you like to see the rest of the ship, Admiral?" John asked.

"Well I wasn't planning on a full inspection… but if you've the time." Hannah replied politely. Miranda had stayed silent through the exchange, watching impassively, but being _very_ present. Hannah's gaze occasionally flickered to the Specialist's pocket in which was kept the broken transmitter. Proof of Hackett's, and by extension, Hannah's own distrust. John was thankfully oblivious, and when he led his mother into the elevator, Miranda followed, giving the glowering entourage a wink as the door shut.

The elevator ride was a short, silent one. And when the door opened, the first thing Hannah saw was the wall mural, covered in names. She walked forward slowly, reading down the list.

"Charles Pressly?"she asked, frowning. "The name sounds familiar."

"He was killed over a year ago when the Collectors blew up the original Normandy." John answered.

"Who is Thane Krios?"

"A specialist." Miranda told her. "Drell assassin brought on board to assist in offensive operations against the collectors. Killed by Kai Leng during the Cerberus coup attempt. Saved councilor Valern's life."

"A Drell assassin..." Hannah murmured, sounding almost hypnotized. She reached out to touch the nameplate. "That must have been something to see in action."

"He was." John affirmed. "And he was a good man. An honorable man. You would have liked him, mom."

"And ...Mordin Solus?" The woman asked. "That's a Salarian name."

"STG scientist." John explained. "He reengineered the Genophage and died curing it near the start of the war. He is responsible for the treaty between the Krogan and the Turians."

"Not many people at Alliance Command were thrilled about that." Hannah said.

John frowned. "Have you ever been to Tuchanka, mom?"

"I haven't." the Admiral admitted.

"Well we have. And I've seen Krogan artwork. Paintings. Sculptures. I even saw a Krogan reciting poetry."

"It was awful stuff." Miranda added with a laugh. Hannah turned to her for an explanation, which she happily provided. "Not violent or anything. Just badly overwritten. Subtle as a… well… as a Krogan."

"He was wooing an asari." John said unhappily. They ended up together. Or would have if he hadn't died on Utukku. Killed by ravagers."

"You didn't mention that…" Miranda winced.

"I didn't think of it until now." John shook his head. "But that's not my point. My point was that there is potential for real growth and a real culture to develop there. The Genophage wasn't keeping them docile, it was stifling them."

Hannah Shepard turned back to the wall, and recognized another name. "Ashley Williams?"

John winced as his mother spun around. "You wrote to me about her, John."

"That was two years ago." He shot back, suddenly on the defensive. "A lot happened."

The Admiral eyed Miranda. "Clearly."

* * *

Their next stop was at the Normandy's med-bay, to talk to the resident medic.

"Mom, this is Karin Chakwas. She's been the Normandy's doctor since Anderson was captain. She was with me through Saren, the Collectors, and the Reaper war."

Chakwas rose from her chair and saluted the Admiral. In many ways, the two women were very similar. They both carried the same dignity, though the Admiral was much grittier. "The Collectors?" Hannah asked sharply, "You worked for Cerberus?"

"No." Chakwas shook her head, "Cerberus worked for _us_. And then we took their best ship and their best people." she gestured at Miranda. "I don't regret it one bit…"

As Chakwas spoke, Miranda found her gaze drawn to Tali's bedside.. The geth was still there, standing against the wall opposite. It had not moved an inch since Miranda's last visit, though clearly decorating it had been a pastime for other members of the crew. It now sported a makeshift wig, taken from a the head of a mop. Someone had labeled it too; a piece of paper with several prospective names crossed out had been taped to its shoulder. The whimsical nature of the latest moniker made her smile: Stanley.

Joker must have visited.

Miranda's smiled was short-lived, however when she met the gaze of Tali. The young quarian engineer was watching them closely from her spot near the AI core. Miranda took one last look at the Admiral, but Chakwas had the situation well in hand, and given how well the rest of the meeting had gone so far, Miranda could probably afford to be away from a minute or two.

She walked over to Tali's cot and stood beside it, arms crossed. The quarian waited too, patient as a glacier, while they both ran their previous conversation through their heads.

"I want to know why." Miranda said.

"Because it was a problem that I could fix." Tali answered. "Tell me, did you learn anything useful?"

"What makes you think I'm ever going to open up in front of you again?" Miranda asked. "You don't just wade into other people's business, Tali'Zorah."

"Shepard does."

"John's… special. You're just an engineer."

"I'm sure that attitude will make you lots of friends…" the engineer said. "Tell me, when you opened up to him, did he bite your head off? Stomp on your heart? Betray you in any way? Did doing it leave you worse off than you were before?"

"No. But that doesn't justify-"

"Not to you, maybe. But it's a lesson you'd never have learned otherwise. Be honest with the people you care about, Miranda. If they care about you just as much, which Shepard _does_, it can be the best thing you could ever do. You can lift each other up. It's hard to break a bundle of sticks, but snapping one on its own is easy."

"How poetic." Miranda said coldly. "I'm surprised you can make sense of that metaphor, considering your… heritage."

"We have a similar saying in the fleet. Trying to insult me doesn't make me wrong." Tali replied evenly. "And I don't care whether you like me or not. But Shepard cares about you, and so I do too. Now go away. I'm sure you have more important things to do."

Miranda's retort was cut off by a surprised cry from the admiral "Is that a _Geth_?"

"They're allies now." John replied.

Tali leaned out slightly at nodded at Hannah. "Who is that?"

"Admiral Hannah Shepard." Miranda answered. Tali stared, and Miranda nodded. "Yes. They're related."

"Oh… Joker's going to have a field day!" Tali proclaimed with devilish delight. Despite their unresolved issues, Miranda couldn't help but smile with her. They both watched as the elder Shepard crossed the Med-Bay to give the machine a closer examination. Her son followed her, bracing himself for an argument.

"You're storing a Geth in the Med-Bay?" Hannah asked, incredulous.

John gestured at Tali. "It's healing my friend. Besides, the Geth are allies."

"You trust it?"

"I have to." He replied, his voice getting a little more heated than it should have been. "We all do. We can't afford not to."

The Admiral snorted and gave the thing a look of derision. Miranda caught John's expression. The man was suddenly looking fearful, and she knew why: the Reapers had been created to stop warring between synthetics and organics. The Admiral's attitude did not bode well for the future. If enough people thought the way Hannah Shepard did, the Reapers would return and continue their harvest.

"Do you even remember what happened to Eden Prime, John." Hannah asked.

"It was just one colony and it was a small portion of the Geth civilization."

"_Just one colony?_" Hannah parroted, shocked. "John!"

"One of many." Shepard said, continuing to fight. "The important part is that those Geth were being controlled by the reapers. By Sovereign. They don't represent the majority."

"The Reapers allied with the Geth because they're all synthetics."

"Wrong." John replied angrily. "And if you continue to believe that, you'll be _dead _wrong. Reapers are hybrid. Both synthetic and organic. The Geth were a large, well-armed, isolated group which was _already _at odds with the rest of the Galaxy. Add their military capabilities, and they were the perfect targets for beginning the Reaper invasion. If they'd been organic, they'd have been indoctrinated and turned into slaves like the collectors." He shrugged. "They were synthetics so they got infected with a reaper virius."

"Reaper virus…"Hannah scoffed, turning to Tali for support. "You're a quarian. You _can't_ believe this…"

Beneath her helmet, Tali's eyes narrowed. "Actually I am. The Geth are helping us rebuild Rannoch, fix our immune systems, and fight the Reapers. And this one saved my life while we were _both_ fighting for _your_ planet. As we speak it's fixing my immune system and keeping me healthy. In a few years I'll be able to breathe without a helmet."

The Admiral stared at her for a moment, and then dismissed her opinion. But she couldn't dismiss Shepard. "Even if you're right, John-"

"He is." Miranda interjected.

Hannah glared at her. "That doesn't excuse you storing it aboard the most powerful ship in the Alliance Navy. What if it infects your VI? The security risk is too great. Artificial Intelligences aren't trustworthy, John."

"Bullshit." John replied angrily, "Complete and utter bullshit. Where do you get your information, Mom? Rumors? Third-hand reports in your in-tray? How many aliens do you talk to on a daily basis? One? Two?"

The Admiral clearly hadn't been briefed on EDI. And if she didn't know, no one was about to inform her.

"The Orizaba is a _human_ ship, John, with a _human_ crew." Hannah said proudly. "And I've been Captaining human ships since before you were potty-trained. Don't forget that fact. Show some respect."

"I will as soon as you start." He challenged. "You've spent your life cooped up on an Alliance ship gobbling up their spoon-fed propaganda like a hungry Varren! The Normandy is a Spectre's ship, built by Cerberus. And my closest friends and greatest allies were all alien."

Miranda decided to intercede before things went any further. She took a step between them and put an arm out. "Perhaps this is best discussed in the loft, John?"

He took a step back, breathing heavily. He and his mother were staring daggers at each other, but they were both smart enough to recognize the kind of divisiveness an argument like this would have on the crew. Outside the med-bay window, the off-duty marines were beginning to take an interest. John glanced at them, and then back at his mother.

"She's right." He said. "Let's finish this upstairs."

"Very well then…" Hannah conceded. "But we are going to have _words_, John Shepard! This is not how I taught my son to act!"

* * *

**Oddly enough, I can't write Tali unless I make her a little bit bitchier than she is in-game. But lately she has such an interesting perspective on things that she's too good to pass up. **

**I think I've done all I can with the whole "spy" angle, considering it's not a part of the main plot. I cut this one a tiny bit short so that I can put the next one out a lot sooner.**


	18. Family matters: Part 5

Family matters: Part 5

The two Shepards managed to keep their peace until they were inside his cabin. But the moment the door slid shut, Hannah turned on John again. "What propaganda? I was born and raised in the Alliance, John. I fought the Turians during first contact! Your father died there, if you remember! And suddenly you tell me your best friend is a Turian? Really, John?"

"_Was._" John's voice had gone quiet. The special sort of quiet one finds at the center of a hurricane.

To Miranda's horror, the Admiral pressed on his sore spot. Hannah said, "How could you side with aliens, especially some damned Turian? Work with Cerberus against your own people? Show us some respect. The alliance gave you a career. A family. If it wasn't for the Alliance, you wouldn't be here!"

John exploded. "If it wasn't for Miranda, I wouldn't be here! If it wasn't for Tali, I wouldn't be here! If it wasn't for Chakwas and Joker and Garrus and Ash and Mordin and Thane, I wouldn't be here! Yes, my best friend _was _a Turian, and I owe him more than you! You owe him! The entire Galaxy owes him! He stood by me when no one else did, and he died for Earth! He died for you! Don't you DARE say a word against him! I'd take him over the fucking Alliance any damned day! The same with Miranda!" John was shouting now. Miranda had never seen him this upset before. Suffice to say, it wasn't a comforting sight.

"Is that what you've been doing all this time, John? Consorting with Aliens?" Hannah gestured at Miranda. "Sleeping with Cerberus Operatives? You've forgotten your roots and I-"

"Wrong! I'm just not proud of them anymore. The Alliance is fat, slow, blind, arrogant, and stupid! Paralyzed by kowtowing and public opinion. You can only see the galaxy through one goddamned lens, and there's no room for anyone else but humanity. Cerberus saw things the same way, but at least the Illusive Man had a vision. At least he was smart about it."

"And he also had a beautiful assistant to offer up to you in exchange for the help." Hannah replied acidly.

"_Excuse me_?" Miranda raised her eyebrows. The Admiral ignored her.

"She was there to keep me in line." John replied. "Not seduce me! How can you accuse either of us of something so goddamned shallow?"

"Easily." Hannah told him vehemently. "Because I can't see any other reason why _my own son _would side with Cerberus…" she shook her head. "Or Turians. What your father would make of this…"

"Well he's dead now, isn't he?" John spat. "He doesn't matter anymore. Hasn't for years."

Once again, Hannah Shepard was struck silent by shock. John kept the heat up. "As for Cerberus, they were willing to listen! Cerberus had a plan! Cerberus didn't wait until the Reapers were frying women and children on the streets of Vancouver before they decided the threat _just might possibly be real_! You know what? I saw Cerberus on mars! During the reaper attack, they took over the Alliance outpost! They killed the entire staff! Slaughtered the facility! But I was relieved! _I was glad to see them_! Even when I had to gun them down. Because it meant that someone else had a plan! Someone else knew what they were doing and had a solution other than Let's Let Commander Shepard Handle It. We Can Toss Him Back In Jail Later! I was a savior _and_ a scapegoat, and I was damned tired of it all!"

"And what about Sanctuary?" Hannah tried. "How can you justify what happened there?"

"Sanctuary almost worked!" John told her. "The Illusive Man was able to control Reaper forces. And he was right! _Controlling them was an option!_ Not the one I would have taken, but he could have done it! He could have made it work, but he made a mistake. One mistake, and a damned small one in the grand scheme of things! He could have made it work. He moved when the Alliance stood still, and he saw when the alliance was blind! And if he'd succeeded, I would have gone down on one knee and thanked him for it!"

"We weren't blind, John." His mother tried again. "We were just being-"

"The alliance hung me out to dry three times, and every damned time it left the Reapers unopposed! They were going to put me on trial for _delaying the reaper invasion_! Because they wanted to make nice. To bury their heads in the sand!" He snarled at the Admiral. "If they'd listened to me three years ago like he did, we could have prevented this!"

"You can't know that, John." Miranda interjected. She had heard enough, and was trying to prevent the situation from deteriorating any further. Seeing the Admiral's blind pro-Alliance attitude being blown out of the water was entertaining, but something was wrong, and Miranda could no longer accept that the problem was on Hannah Shepard's end. The woman was overreacting because she was scared for her son. To Miranda's surprise, she suddenly found herself on the wrong end of the man's wrath.

John turned on her furiously. "Whose side are _you_ on?"

Miranda would have reacted a lot more strongly had John's face not immediately transformed from anger to worry and sorrow. He hadn't meant to snap at her. That was clear, and she kept it in mind as an important piece of information. It meant that wherever his sudden anger was coming from, it had a very specific target, and Miranda wasn't it.

She licked her lips and looked from him to the Admiral. "Can you give us a minute, please?"

For once the two women agreed on something. Hannah nodded at her, looking relieved at the opportunity to put some distance between herself and the stranger wearing her son's face. She walked out in to the hallway, and Miranda closed the door behind her. When she turned back to him, her arms were crossed in defiance, and she had a stern, worried expression which probably mirrored Hannah's.

"I'm sorry." he said immediately. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry, Miranda."

She said, "You're beginning to worry me, John. Understanding the Illusive Man's point of view is one thing. Even sympathizing with it, I can live with, given how much the Alliance and council put you through. But it's quite another thing to idolize his methods."

"First of all, I'm not." He replied, "Secondly, you did that once yourself I remember."

"And I was wrong!" Miranda snapped. "You know that! You always knew that! That's what _you_ taught to _me_, John. That his way wasn't the only way to operate. Why the hell are you putting him on a pedestal now? Especially after all he did…"

"I was just trying to justify-"

"Justify what?" She asked. "Your own actions? The fact that you worked with us? Is that what's bothering you? I wasn't aware it had caused you that much guilt." She paused and moved forward to trace her fingers down the left side of his face, starting above his brow and moving down his cheek. Her fingertips followed what was the very faintest pattern of a glowing web of orange sub-dermal tech. She tried to remember if any of those scars had been visible during his stay in the hospital. She knew they hadn't been there when she'd seen him on Sanctuary, and she knew what the sight represented: his changing outlook. It scared her. The thought of him pulling away from admiral Hackett, and keeping his head above the Alliance's propaganda was one thing, but this was taking it too far. "What are you trying to justify, John?"

The man seemed to shrink, his anger withering even further. "There were so many dead." He muttered, reliving the opening moments of the war. "And the Alliance-"

"Isn't at fault for that." She replied gently. "That was the Reapers."

"And I can't touch them, can I?" He replied bitterly. "They did so much damage and they got away without even a black eye! I can't beat them. We can't punish them…"

"But you _can_ blame the Alliance and the Council for not doing enough." she said, a sliver of understanding finally breaking through. John was like Tali in his search for answers. 'just because' wasn't good enough. Not for something as pointlessly destructive as the Reapers. He was an atheist, but that didn't mean he couldn't believe that the universe wasn't a decent place, that it didn't have a rotten core. Was it karma? No. Nothing so structured as that. Just a belief in basic decency. So far nothing he'd seen nothing on the side of good, able to match the evil of the Reapers.

He would have found it a sobering thought that many people regarded _him_ as the universe's reply. An immovable object meeting the Reapers' unstoppable force.

As it was he had to blame something, and somewhere along the line, what had originally been justifiable anger at the Alliance's behavior had turned into a vengeful quest for an explanation no one would ever be able to provide. They had become a target. A straw man against which he could direct all of his blame, and his own confusion over the unfair nature of the universe. How long had he suppressed all that anger? How long had it been building up?

One thing was certain, and it explained a lot: his mother's defensive attitude had turned her into an avatar for the Alliance.

He collapsed into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut. "Someone has to be responsible for all of this, Miri… All that death and pain…I can't believe that the universe could just do that to us and walk away."

Miranda moved over and leaned on his desk, watching him. "Why not."

"Because our galaxy is a better place than that!" he said helplessly, meeting her gaze.

Miranda smiled. She leaned down and kissed him gently, feeling their lips meld together. "_There_ you are, John." She smiled against his mouth. "I was wondering where you'd run off to."

He chuckled and shook his head. "So many people didn't take anything on faith, Miri. And I thought that if there was one person left in the Alliance who would actually trust me, Who'd be willing to take things on a little faith…"

"She does trust you, John." Miranda lied, feeling the weight of the transmitter in her pocket. She wasn't about to tell him. She wasn't sure how he'd react, and at that moment, the man needed something to cling to. It was a far safer option to dispose of it quietly, or hold it as collateral against the woman. Miranda said, "You've just scared her. People get defensive and extreme when they're frightened, and she doesn't recognize you. You aren't the same man she raised. Not anymore. You're also partly right about the Alliance. There is corruption, political kowtowing, xenophobia, even blindness.

"But there was also David Anderson, Kaiden Alenko, Karin Chakwas, Ken and Gabby… Joker. Jacob, Even Williams by the end of it. Hackett as well, despite what he's doing now. Take another look at that memorial wall downstairs, John. Take a look at the casualty lists. All those Alliance soldiers who died with you on the run to the beam, how many of _them_ did nothing?"

John sighed. "You're right. But Hackett's on the warpath now, and if my mother is going to ostracize you, she's going to do it to both of us."

"Well I don't need _that_ woman's approval." Miranda told him softly. "Nor Admiral Hackett's. But I want you to be okay, and if you carry on like this, you won't be. They won't let you."

"I'm sorry, Miri. I'm just…" John shrugged helplessly and got to his feet. "This war was hard. With all the political games the other races were playing, I sometimes felt like I was the only one actually trying to win it. I still feel like every decision I'm making has billions of lives hanging on it. I still feel like I have to spell things out for all the idiots out there… I just never thought my own mother would be one of them…"

She moved towards him and embraced him, then moved towards the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked softly, loathe to let her go.

"I'm going to go talk to her myself." She replied, "You should stay here, John. Do some thinking. Come find us when you're ready to repair things. I don't want to see you lose your family. Or sabotage your own future. Not on my account, and not for things that you had no control over."

"I don't want to lose _you_ either." He replied.

"You won't." she promised. They shared one last lingering look before she stepped out into the hallway.

* * *

The moment Miranda stepped out into the hallway, she was confronted by the Admiral.

"What have you done to my son?" the woman asked vehemently.

Miranda waited in silence for a moment, letting the woman simmer down. When she answered, she spoke in a calming, quiet tone. A reasonable one, in complete contrast to John's anger. "If you can find it in yourself to believe for one minute that I had nothing to do with this, we might actually be able to resolve this issue." Miranda told her quietly. "Everything I've done so far was in his defense, including _not _telling him about the transmitter."

The woman looked her up and down, unsure. But it was obvious to both of them that Hannah wasn't going to get anything more out of her son. Miranda could read the woman's expression quite clearly: It comes to something when a Cerberus agent is the most reasonable person around…

"It was nothing you did, either." Miranda added honestly. " John just fought through hell, lost his closest friends, his home world, and most of his faith that there was anything good left in the universe. The Reapers did that to him. Not me. He didn't have a lot of support. Not from the Alliance, or the council." She remembered Tali's advice to be honest, and decided to take a chance. After all, it had not drawn her and John closer together? Had it not led to a deeper understanding? Acceptance? Perhaps lightning could strike twice…

It wasn't like she had any choice but to gamble now, anyway. John's outburst had ruined any chance they had of tricking the woman. The only hope was to lay all their cards on the table, and pray his story outweighed the Alliance propaganda. Miranda did at least have one advantage: the woman cared about her son. A few minutes ago, it had been used against her via blackmail. But that wouldn't work now that John had alienated her so completely. So perhaps it could be used to buy Miranda a little time. Time enough to provide another explanation. The real reason for John's apparently outlandish behavior. But before the Admiral would understand John, she'd first have to understand and trust Miranda Lawson. A little bit, at least. That meant telling the truth instead of lying and hiding. Not something she was used to, but…

If she managed to pull this off, then Miranda probably owed Tali a fair amount of gratitude. And an apology.

…Shit.

She said, "John didn't get much support from me either. Even_ I_ tried to abandon him when I thought there was a risk he wouldn't make it."

"Why?" the woman demanded. "Why would you do that to him?"

Miranda decided not to comment on the hypocrisy of the question. What was the only thing worse than being an irredeemably evil _Cerberus agent_? Being frightened of getting yet another emotional scar, apparently…

It was the sort of comment her father would have made. The ability to find the very worst, the most hurtful aspect of a mistake. At least it showed the woman's investment. The response any other Admiral probably would have given was: _we didn't abandon him, he abandoned us!_

Miranda pushed thouhgts of her own father aside. The last thing they all needed was for her to get as angry at the woman as John was.

"Because until I met him I was everything you hate about Cerberus." Miranda told her.

The admission caught the Admiral off-guard, and bought Miranda a small crack in the Admiral's airtight propaganda-hardened armour. She decided to move in for the kill. "I spent nine months on this ship, traveling the galaxy with John Shepard. I watched him going further and doing more than any other member of our species has ever done. And he did it with an open heart and an open mind.

"He built bridges, Admiral, and helped anyone in need, any way he could. Our crew, along with the Drell assassin, that Quarian down in the med-bay, and the Salarian scientist, had an Asari Justicar, a Turian sniper, a genetically engineered Krogan, a master thief, a homicidal biotic, Zaeed Massani… Even a Geth platform. We called it Legion."

Miranda shook her head in disbelief. "And John knew them all by name. Kept all their disparate elements and racial feuds at bay. He talked to them all, got to know them and each of their cultures. Because he was curious about the galaxy. Because he was honest. _Because he actually cared! _It's true that this ship did have the Cerberus Logo on the side. But it was _John's_ ship. _His_ crew. _His_ mission… Except for me."

"And what were you?" Hannah Shepard was still defensive, but Miranda could hear the undertones of uncertainty. She wasn't out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot, but it was a step forward.

"I was the Illusive Man's watchdog. Placed on board this ship to make sure that John Shepard stayed in line. I was there to corrupt him. To turn him into a Cerberus Lackey to do with as we please, and I failed. I know right now it looks like I succeeded, but I didn't. It was the first time I'd ever failed an assignment, and before I did it, I never thought I'd be glad of it happening." she glanced at the elevator. For once, the Admiral was silent, watching the younger woman with both suspicion and, more importantly, curiosity.

"John converted me. Not the other way around. If you're open to a second tour, and a cup of coffee, I can tell you the whole story." Miranda said. "At least, my part of it. You can ask Tali and Chakwas more questions. Even our pilot, Joker. I'm afraid I don't know much about what happened during the Reaper war itself. I wasn't aboard for that, but I'll tell you what I can, and then you might be able to understand why he's so angry right now."

The Admiral sighed, thinking for a moment. Eventually she nodded. "Alright…" she winced. "…Miss Lawson."

It was a strange thing to imagine, but from the admiral's perspective, agreeing to listen, to hear out the Cerberus Operative, was an incredible risk. But Miranda's gamble had paid off. The Admiral cared about John. Ignoring Miranda meant condemning her son. She had chosen John. Perhaps this whole mess could be salvaged after all...

* * *

**The comment about Shepard's father's death isn't cannon. I couldn't really find any references to Shepard's father anywhere in the Spacer origin, but I thought that explanation fit both the character's absence, and Hannah's pro-alliance/anti-alien attitudes very well. It's an efficient explanation, though perhaps a cliched one.**

**Found a really excellent fic called 'Square One' by Vacuumchaser. It also covers a happy Shep/Miri alternate ending. A different take, but writing and characterization is amazing, easy going, and addictively quotable. Go check it out of you're jonesin' for more Shep/Miri.**

**Would you guys believe this subplot was only supposed to last three chapters? Four at most. It's going on to six at least...**


	19. History: Cerberus and Saren

History: Part 1

Miranda passed a mug of coffee across the table. She took a seat opposite Hannah and blew gently on her own cup to cool down the steamy liquid inside. The galley was empty, each soldier having moved on to his or her assigned tasks. Miranda was glad for the privacy.

"So," The Admiral asked, "What happened to John?"

"I think we should start with Cerberus, actually." Miranda told her. "It'll provide a little bit of context and background."

"Alright." Hannah sat back, her eyes narrowed. She hadn't touched her coffee. "Cerberus, then."

"Alright." Miranda collected her thoughts and began to speak. "The Salarians have the Special Tasks group, the Asari, their Commandos. The Turians have the Blackwatch. When I joined Cerberus, they were nothing more than humanity's equivalent."

"You were terrorists."

"Xenophobic terrorists." Miranda elaborated quickly. Her outright agreement caught the Admiral off-guard. "Xenophobic terrorists with half the admiralty board and Arcturus feeding us intelligence, data, and credits. We had private contracts out with MarsGene, New Dawn Pharmaceuticals and the Milky Way Foundation by extension. I was the lead operative in the TRAPDOOR cell, which used those organization's resources to conduct biotic experiments on captured Asari with the objective of disrupting their powers. We were backed and funded by ExoGeni, Apex Omnitools, Ayndroid Group, Light & Shadow Pictures, ANN, Second Star Broadcasting, TACC, EAE, Nashan Stellar Dynamics, Hahne-Kedar both the parent corporation, and its Shadow Works subsidiary…" Miranda continued speaking, running down her own internal list. It was recent information, quite startling to realize that nearly every major human corporation was involved in Cerberus in some way. It certainly startled the Admiral, whose eyes were growing wider by the second.

As part of her own private efforts to track down Oriana, Miranda had been forced to hack into the Organization's older records. What she'd seen there could easily have incriminated three-quarters of the Alliance command.

"We were well funded and well organized. There was no room for incompetence in Cerberus, and we had a standing rule of non-interference. When the Alliance even caught wind of us, it meant that things had gone very wrong. The most damage ever dealt to us during a single Alliance raid was actually dealt by John during his investigation of Saren. He happened upon admiral Kahoku, and they blew one of our largest cells wide open. Actually the Illusive Man considered assassinating him at that point, but thought better of it."

"Who would have been sent?" the Admiral asked, her voice constricted slightly.

"Either Kai Leng or myself, most likely." Miranda stared into her coffee. "It wouldn't have been an operation which could have afforded failure. But that's theoretical. As it happened, the Illusive Man decided John was more valuable alive, despite his actions. And he didn't hurt us all that much . For every cell which failed or was uncovered, there were ten which succeeded. For every bribe or blackmail attempt exposed, well over a dozen went smoothly. I remember about… fourteen years ago an Alliance captain in the fifth fleet, scout flotilla was convicted of feeding information to us." Miranda sat back, smiling humorlessly. "The man was innocent. Not only was his direct superior _and _the real informant, with us, but so was the judge, his defense counsel, and the military police prosecuting him. None of them knew about each other, but they all hung him out to dry to protect their own covers. We were everywhere."

"You think I'm going to believe that?"

"You wanted the truth." Miranda said. "I never said it wasn't ugly. Do with it what you will. And none of our operatives were any more xenophobic than you, with your anti-Turian attitude. The difference? We had a man at the top inspiring us to do something about it. Organizing us into a well-oiled machine whose prime directive was the preservation and advancement of humanity. At any cost."

"The Illusive Man…" Hannah murmured.

"Yes." Miranda took another sip and decided to wait a few more minutes for the liquid to cool down further. "He took all of the fear, the xenophobia, and hammered it into something useful. Something greater. We were humane when we could afford to be, and brutal when we couldn't. But we never let anything get in the way of completing our assigned tasks. He convinced us that the ends really did justify the means, and we made some great strides forward. _That _was the organization I joined, and to be honest, I don't regret much of the work I did there. I had professional pride, self-respect, I believed in his goal, and I was _damned good _at my job."

"You're competent, certainly." Hannah mused grimly. "Why didn't you join the Alliance?"

"I was underage at the time. Only fifteen."

"_They drafted children?_" Admiral Shepard looked horrified.

"No. I volunteered. I was old enough to take care of myself, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Don't you dare disrespect me by implying otherwise. I went to the Illusive Man asking for help. He agreed. Besides, Cerberus offered me several things the Alliance couldn't."

"Like what?"

"Like protection from my f- from an interested…party." Miranda managed to bite back the admission. Telling the Admiral about her father would mean telling her about Oriana, and she wasn't about to endanger her sister. Not until she knew what this conversation would lead to. Not until it got around to her relationship with John. She'd know long before that point whether or not the Admiral was smartening up.

"There's something you're not telling me." Hannah said suspiciously.

"Yes there is." Miranda admitted. "It'll be addressed later. It's to do with John and I."

"Speaking of John…" Hannah said pointedly.

Miranda nodded. She'd provided enough background. "Cerberus watched John Shepard rise through the Alliance ranks, with a strong sense of duty, loyalty, belief in the Alliance and everything that you supposedly stood for."

That was a test…'Supposedly'… Miranda was trying to provoke her. If the Admiral was still dead set against Cerberus, and bull-headed in her belief in the Alliance, that word would make her a very angry woman.

Hannah failed the test. "There is nothing false about the Alliance's standing orders!" she insisted. "We believe in cooperation and peaceful coexistence with other races!"

Despite her desire to contradict the poor woman, Miranda continued to speak. She made up her mind to test again later and see if the story was having any effect. "John knew that, believed that, and become a candidate for the N7 program. It was a Cerberus operative who put his name forward, by the way. We were considering recruitment at that point, but he was far too much of an Alliance poster-boy. They were already grooming him, and while xenophobia wasn't as aspect we looked for in our recruits, we do tend to prefer them jaded, angry, and tired of the Alliance. He was taking a little too much after his mother and father."

Hannah smiled slightly, with an unbearably smug expression on her face.

"He dropped off our radar for a while, until the Skillian Blitz. We had a hand in stopping that, by the way. We didn't succeed like John did, we lacked the resources to meet them on the field of battle. But I was involved in intercepting arms deals for the batarian forces, and sabotaging alliances between the disparate mercenary bands. But for Cerberus, that attack would have been a lot worse. We may well have saved John's life, though that's an entirely academic discussion…the important part is that because of his actions, he became a Spectre candidate. The second one ever considered."

"First." Hannah corrected proudly.

"David Anderson was first," Miranda corrected, "but his chances were sabotaged by Saren Arterius. Anyway, John took the post of executive officer on the Normandy SR-1, and was sent to Eden Prime."

"And it had been attacked by the Geth."

"…Almost right." Miranda nodded. "An army of corrupted Geth programs being controlled by a Reaper named Sovereign, and led by Saren Arterius. That was not the Geth _as a race_. Keep that in mind."

"Why Eden Prime?" the Admiral asked.

"What did the Alliance propaganda machine tell you?" Miranda asked, testing the woman again.

"Eden Prime was our biggest, most advanced colony." Hannah responded, showing a considerable amount of constraint. She was clearly itching to shoot Miranda down. "It was a symbolic gesture, meant to scare us."

"Partly true." Miranda conceded, backing off slightly. "Partly true. But I personally believe Saren Arterius was _probably_ more interested in the Prothean warning beacon which had just been unearthed at the Eden Prime dig site."

The Admiral stared. Miranda stared back and added, "The same beacon the SSV Normandy was scheduled to pick up on its maiden voyage… John saved the colony, killed the Geth," Miranda waved a dismissive hand. "Those don't matter. What matters is two facts: One, he got Saren's name, and Two, he got a message from the Prothean beacon downloaded into his brain. Though he didn't understand it at the time, it was actually the story of the Fall of the Protheans, and the last Reaper war. That's where the name 'Reaper' came from."

She took another sip from her mug and was pleased to find that it had cooled to the perfect temperature. "As you know, Saren led him on a chase across the Galaxy during which he picked up several alien crewmembers including Urdnot Wrex-"

"The Krogan Cheftain?" Hannah asked sharply.

"Yes. He was a simple mercenary at the time. But the other three aliens were Tali'Zorah nor Rayya, who you've already spoken to," Miranda gestured at the Med-Bay, "Liara T'Soni, daughter of Matriach Benezia who was Saren's second-in-command. She's on this ship as well, in the Executive Officer's office."

"Wait…" Hannah frowned. "Then where are you sleeping?"

Miranda gave her a look of disbelief. "With John, of course."

"Of course…" Hannah grumbled.

"Both of them are here with us and can confirm any aspect of this story."

"I may ask them to." Hannah warned

"Go right ahead." Miranda said, "But you let me finish first. The fourth Alien crew member was by far the most important to John. He was the Turian. Named Garrus Vakarian. An honorable man, a hell of a sniper, and John's closest friend and most trusted ally."

Miranda met the Admiral's eye, making sure she was being heard, "If you ever want to repair things with your son, you remember that name, and respect it. Garrus Vakarian. John never went anywhere without Garrus. They were a team. A duo. They fought as one, covered each other's strengths and weaknesses perfectly… nearly reading each other's minds. I've never seen anything like it…

"I know on the Collector mission, when John was unsure of things, when he wanted a second opinion, needed to catch his breath or think things through, he wouldn't go to me." She paused, remembering just how irritating that fact had been. "He'd go to Garrus."

"Garrus Vakarian." Hannah parroted, memorizing the name.

"Yes, and aside from the Turian, three very important things happened during that chase." Miranda counted off on her fingers. "Firstly, He and Garrus found out what the Prothean message was. They talked with Sovereign, Saren's ship, and discovered the truth about both the Reapers and the Citadel, which is a giant, intergalactic relay designed to let the reapers through."

"Wait…" Hannah frowned. "What? The Citadel? It was built by the Protheans!"

"Dead wrong." Miranda responded cheerfully, "They found it. Just like the Asari did. It was many things to many people for many, many years. But it is ultimately the Reaper's toy. Their machine and the hub of their entire system. The stuff I'm telling you is beyond classified. Shepard knew about the Reapers, Garrus and the rest of the crew knew. Admiral Hackett and a few senior alliance officials had been told but didn't believe it. And the Council had been told but did believe it. They kept it secret because they didn't want to alarm the public. At least at the start. Later they kept it secret because they didn't want to believe it."

Miranda smiled grimly. "That brings me to my second event: His first betrayal. One of several. He's found out about the Reapers, he's dealt with Benezia, and he's hunted Saren to Virmire where he lost a team member trying to kill the bastard and blow up his facility.

"All this took several months, and throughout that time, he'd been warning the council. First about Saren and the Geth, then about the Reapers. So they called him back to the citadel, and what did they do?"

"Grounded him." Hannah stared down at her hands.

"Correct. All he'd done for humanity, and for the galaxy, the alliance and the council grounded him. Because he was trying to warn them about the Reapers, and wouldn't leave it alone."

"But he didn't have any evidence!" the Admiral argued. "It was a ridiculous claim!"

"At the time, yes." Miranda allowed, "But he was right and the galaxy was wrong, and he knew how much that would cost everyone."

"That's when he went rogue." Hannah said sadly. "I read the reports. He stole the Normandy."

"He did. But he wasn't going rogue. He still believed in standing up for the Alliance and the council and galactic civilization. He figured that if he could stop Saren and save the Citadel. They'd listen to him and start preparing."

"How do you know all this?" Hannah demanded.

"First of all, Cerberus was watching it unfold." Miranda laughed. "Do you honestly believe that any report which crossed Hackett's desk _didn't_ also cross the Illusive Man's? On top of that, John told me all of it himself."

"He didn't!" Hannah was horrified. "That's breaking-"

"More regulations than John cared about by that point. This was only a month before the Alliance shoved him in lockdown. By the time we'd grown …close, he didn't care about regulations and security clearance." Miranda smiled fondly, remembering the warmth and freedom of the many off-duty hours they'd spent together after the suicide mission.

The Admiral sighed. "Alright, so Cerberus started to listen."

"We did. And the moment John started talking about 'Reapers', the Illusive Man devoted three-quarters of our resources to investigating his claims. Because he understood that if John was right, humanity would need to be ready to face them. And as a clandestine group, Cerberus could afford to devote resources because we had no one looking over our shoulder. No one to answer to. Cerberus paid attention. But we're getting off topic here. Something else happened to John during that time. Something absolutely vital to understanding why he's so jaded now."

"Don't beat around the bush." Hannah snapped.

"He fell in love with Ashley Williams." Miranda said, somewhat disappointed. She knew she had to get the facts out, but hadn't anticipated actually enjoying telling the story. "That is important. He met a woman who believed as strongly in the Alliance as you do. They fell for each other and were probably a very kind, caring and supportive couple. A perfect demonstration of the Alliance ideals at work…"

"You don't sound as jealous about it as I'd expect." Hannah observed, criminally smug.

"Perhaps that's because I'm not a child." Miranda suggested, wiping the smirk off the older woman's face. "I don't begrudge John having ever been happy before I entered the picture. He wasn't my first either. As a matter of fact, my own ex was travelling aboard the SR-2 with us, but that's a different story, and this wasn't _Fleet and Flotilla_. It was a war. We had bigger problems. Something, I might add, which didn't seem register with Williams. But we'll get to that later too.

"John saved the citadel. He saved the council in the hopes that action would build up enough trust and good will that they'd rally their own forces in preparation for the Reapers. The Sacrifice took eight human ships and many, many human lives. But it was the same step Cerberus would have taken."

"I doubt that." The Admiral laughed.

"Really? Why?" Miranda frowned. "You're forgetting our prime directive: Protect humanity and serve its advancement at any cost. That's not the same thing as xenophobia, though it can turn out the same in practice. The Illusive Man knew we couldn't take the Reapers on our own. At the very least, the other species would be useful as cannon fodder. Eight human ships in exchange for the might of the Turian fleet? For the Intelligence of the STG and the biotic powers of the Asari?"

"I suppose…"

"John saved the Council. It worked, for a little while. The Council was grateful, of course. Captain Anderson -who believed John, by the way- was given the position of councilor."

"I know all that." Hannah said. "What made John so angry at the Alliance?"

"Look, no one flipped a switch!" Miranda replied coolly, "It was a slow process, and a long one. And we're just getting started. Everything was looking good until John started to ask a few questions about the Preparations… The council got nervous, bypassed Anderson completely, and put pressure on the Alliance to get John away from them. He didn't understand at the time, btuthe Council had no intention of ever heeding his warnings. He had become more trouble than he was worth, and they wanted him out of the picture while they solidified their chokehold on the galaxy. That's how he ended up cleaning pockets of Geth resistance in the Traverse."

"That must have been frustrating for him…" Hannah observed reflectively.

Miranda nodded. It was time for another water test. "John learned the hard way what the Illusive Man and I always knew: Any actions the Alliance takes are constrained by public opinion and political pressure. Not always a bad thing, but in this case, it was the very worst possible move to make. Sometimes the ability to act regardless is an advantage."

The Admiral sighed, staring into her own , untouched glass. Her brow was creased in a way which was very familiar to Miranda. John had held that same look when he was pondering the fate of the collector base. It was the look of one being forced to question her very core values.

"Sometimes." The Admiral conceded. "But that doesn't mean we're the bad guys. We were in a difficult position, and with no way to confirm his story…"

"You made the logical decision." Miranda agreed, taking the pressure off the poor woman. It wouldn't do to push her further. That would only result in a sudden backlash, and she'd close up for good. Hidden behind her own propaganda. This wasn't the first time Miranda had been tasked with changing an ideologically driven mind. It was a slow dance. A careful one. Not one she could afford to lose.

The Admiral spoke. "I see where this is going. He joined Cerberus because you were listening to him. That's how you got to him. He faked his death and…"

"We never got to him, actually." Miranda said simply. "And we never even had the chance to approach him. The reports you read were right. John Shepard died." She smiled at the Admiral's shocked expression, and leaned forward to take a long drink of her coffee. "And that's where things get interesting."

* * *

**I wanted to thank those who responded to my question, both in private messages and through reviews. I really had a hard time trying to decide which points to touch on, and how deeply I could go into them. I decided to pick the ones which outlined the basic adventure, and the ones which would provide Hannah with some insight into Shepard's character.**

**Does anyone remember Miranda's first line in ME2? If Shepard was a paragon she said "Shepard did everything right. Saving the Citadel, even saving the council. Humanity blah blah blah." She agreed with Shepard's actions, which meant that the Illusive man probably did too, to some extent. The organization in the third game is certainly different from the one in the second.**


	20. History: The Lazarus Project and Horizon

History: The Lazarus Project and Horizon

"My son isn't dead."

"No." Miranda agreed patiently. "He isn't. But he was. The Normandy SR-1 was orbiting Alechra, scanning for a rumored geth outpost when it was attacked and destroyed by an unknown spacecraft – we found out who it was later, and we'll get to that. John ended up floating in orbit. His suit decompressed and he died." She winced. "He told me that it was extremely painful."

"Dead is dead." The Admiral said patiently.

"Is not." Miranda challenged teasingly, enjoying herself.

"Is too!" Hannah responded, looking incredulous. "Do you have any idea how many close friends and comrades of mine have died over the years? I've never seen any of _them _come back."

"The difference? They didn't have a clandestine organization willing to spend two years of time and over seven billion credits on the most advanced medical equipment available. Not to mention hiring, blackmailing, or threatening the families of the very best scientific and medical minds in the galaxy, did they?" Miranda sipped her coffee and watched as Hannah ran this statement through her mind.

"You can't bring someone back from the dead. It's impossible." The Admiral said slowly. "No matter how much money is thrown at it."

"My counterargument just finished yelling at you." Miranda reminded her. "That's why we're sitting down here. I said otherwise, so I led the project. I can answer any question thrown at me. Go ahead. Ask."

"What about his memories?" Hannah demanded. "What about his soul? You can't restart the human brain!"

"There is no such thing as a soul." Miranda replied evenly. "Thoughts and emotions are nothing more than electrical and chemical signals. Memories are merely well-travelled synaptic pathways. John's brain was intact, and flash-frozen by the temperatures of space. Granted there was a small amount of damage caused by the manner of his death, but the amount of decomposition was so small as to be irrelevant. He received more relevant brain damage from being tossed around by angry Krogan warlords during his fight against Saren.

"John was killed, ultimately, by a pulmonary embolism. His suit cooled rapidly due to decompression. The temperature regulating unit failed when the electronics did, both within seconds of his death. That froze his body, including his brain. As soon as we got a hold of it, we kept it frozen. From there it was a simple matter of mapping out each individual synapse in an electronic three-dimensional, sub-microscopic, high-resolution grid. That saved his information; all of his memories and emotions. Like backing up files on a computer. All we had to do was unfreeze the brain, and repair it making sure that each synapse matched its electronic equivalent."

"So it's just that easy…" the Admiral laughed darkly.

"It was by no means easy. That procedure is where sixty-eight percent of our funding went. Not only did we have to buy the most advanced equipment in the galaxy, but our R&D division was completely committed to developing the technology which could map the brain to the necessary resolution. And after all is said and done, I have no doubt there are still small holes in his memory. The stronger the synaptic connection, the easier it was to spot, replicate and bring back. Some of the weakest connections –those memories he didn't think about much- we lost. But he hadn't thought about them in decades, and they were small, so they were inconsequential. The vast majority of memories were saved. As was as his mindset, opinions and attitudes about the galaxy and its population." Miranda smiled at her. "He remembered his times tables, the name of every country that joined the Systems Alliance, and the first time he'd ever broken a limb. One of the bones in his forearm. The ulna, I believe, though John doesn't know. I saw it laid open on the operating table during his reconstruction. It had the relevant scarring to match his story.…"

Hannah's mouth opened and closed defiantly as she searched for an answer. A rebuke. The trouble was that it sounded plausible. Miranda knew it did because it had actually _been done_. That was that. There was no way the Admiral could win this particular argument. No loophole. No lies. It was one of Miranda's favorite things about applied science. It was like mathematics. Either it worked or it didn't. Two plus two was four. There was no way to argue the point.

So she chose a different one. "Who gave you the right to play god with my child?"

"No one." Miranda replied. "But if we'd left him dead, where would the human race be right now?"

Once again, the Admiral was at a loss. The defense was simple and airtight, and Hannah knew it. "So… you kept all this information, right?" she asked. "I mean… the medical advances. At least those might be useful…"

"The Alliance already has it all." Miranda replied. In response to the Admiral's baffled expression, she elaborated. "You _did _save the archives aboard Cronos Station, didn't you?" she gave the admiral a nasty smirk. "Or did you just blow it all up?"

"We saved it." Hannah said, her voice dry as a bone. "It's being deconstructed by Alliance researchers as we speak. Highest level clearance."

"Well good. Because it's all in there." Miranda took another sip from her coffee. "Every log, every progress report. Every cell Cerberus ever created. Every advancement we ever made. I'd recommend keeping it high clearance, and out of reach of as many admirals, politicians, and businessmen as possible. There's a lot of incriminating evidence there."

"Like what?"

"Take you goddamned pick. We were _very good_ at information, with a galaxy-wide network spanning every species. The Illusive Man had both hands occupied juggling the Alliance, Citadel Council, alien threats, and all of our own cells and he could_ still _keep the entire STG at bay while running circles around the Shadow Broker and dodging the Blackwatch, Spectres, and Asari Commandoes. He was the best multitasker I've ever met. And the smartest man. Not the best," she added, heading off the Admiral before she could turn her triumphant look into an accusation. "I'd be a fool to say the most moral. He was morally grey at best, and I was aware of that even while working for him. But he _was _the most intelligent. He saw the Reapers coming. Saw what John was capable of, and assigned me to make sure we didn't lose him. When we _did_, we simply brought him back."'

"But… a project of that scope…" Hannah shook her head. "Others had to know…"

"The Shadow Broker found out. He was the one we'd 'acquired' Shepard's body from. With assistance from a former teammate, Liara. The Broker was intending to sell John's body to an interested party. The same ones who'd killed him, but we'll get to that later too. He sent an agent to sabotage the project. As it happened, it was the same man who was in charge of mapping Shepard's brain. A stupid man. Name of Wilson, if I remember. A technical genius. But stupid."

"What happened to him?" Hannah asked.

"I shot him in the throat. Point blank with an M-3 predator heavy pistol." Miranda shrugged. "He didn't make it."

"You murdered him?"

"I eliminated a threat to the completion of our project." Miranda corrected. "Ends justify means, remember?"

"Without an investigation? Or a trial?"

"Why bother? He was guilty and he was a threat to the integrity of our Test …Subject…" Miranda's voice fell short. She had run out of breath, somehow. She stared at Hannah, feeling shocked. It had been such a long time since she'd called John that. It had been his designation. A title. A method to dehumanize him. To turn him into an experiment instead of a person. It was easy to gut a Subject. To dissect a Subject. To test and analyze and poke and prod a Subject. How could she have thought of him like that? She couldn't imagine thinking of him like that now…

Admiral Shepard waited for a few pregnant seconds, then said, "…Test Subject?"

Miranda swallowed and stared shamefully down into her cooling cup of coffee. "He was one. And that's how I thought of him at the time." She admitted. "He was a goal. An experiment. An assignment and a method for me to further my career with Cerberus. Nothing more. That was how I thought."

"How you _thought_?"

"I don't think like that anymore." Miranda told her, too distraught to think of anything more effective than that pitiful denial. "Not anymore! That came after! John taught me how to think and care like a human being again. Something I hadn't done since I was eight or nine years old."

Hannah frowned curiously. "Why? What kind of an upbringing did you have?"

"You've read the report on Sanctuary?" Miranda asked shortly.

"I have."

"Do you remember the name of the lead scientist?"

"Henry Lawson…" Now it was Hannah's turn to look shocked as she made the connection. "My god…"

Miranda nodded. She could feel the moisture which preceded tears, and blinked them back. Apparently the memories Tali had forced her to dredge up were still fresh. "Father hadn't changed at all. The interested party I mentioned earlier? The one Cerberus was protecting me from?"

"It was that..._monster_?" the Admiral spat. She was watching Miranda through a different lens. That of a person, instead of a target, or an obstacle, and Miranda knew that an enormous hurdle had been cleared on Hannah's way to understanding her son's decisions. The Admiral softened, and looked at Miranda with a mixture of pity and understanding. "I read the reports of what that man did to those refugees. He had Cerberus' help-"

"Not the same Cerberus I joined." Miranda added quietly. "They got worse after I left."

"I can't imagine what having him as a father must have been like. _Anything_ else must have looked good in comparison." Hannah guessed, her tone gentle and subdued. "even Cerberus."

"They did." Miranda nodded. "The Illusive Man was very welcoming. Supportive…"

The two women fell into an awkward silence, looking everywhere but at each other. A full minute passed as neither of them knew what to say. Eventually the Admiral sighed. "And what about John? What about Project Lazarus?"

"We gave him the choice to walk away, but he cooperated with us." Miranda told her quietly. The Admiral opened her mouth, but once again Miranda got to the point first. "Of course he'd work with us. Don't forget that he'd just learned about the Reaper threat. The Alliance had assigned him to milk runs. Last he'd remembered, the council had been hesitant at best, hostile at worst. The Illusive man told him that we'd heard his warnings, and wanted to help. With the threat as big as the Reapers, and John's desire to help people, he couldn't refuse. The Illusive Man knew he wouldn't."

"_If _he was the same man, I can't imagine he was comfortable with it…" Hannah observed.

"The Illusive Man had insured that myself aside, our crew was populated with sympathetic faces. Or ones who could hide enough to look that way. We hired Jeff Moreau and Karin Chakwas, to give him something familiar. They helped a little, and they're both still stationed here if you want to ask any questions.

"But it was by no means a pleasant alliance. We did not mistreat him. But… John was lost for the first two weeks. He didn't know how to handle the situation at all. Aside from Chakwas and Joker, he didn't trust me or Cerberus at all, and I can hardly blame him." Miranda scowled, remembering how diligently and blindly she'd followed the Illusive Man's orders.

"Every inch of this ship, with the exception of the Drive Core, was installed with high-end bugs and surveillance equipment. Even his cabin. He knew that. He'd found seven different bugs in his cabin. I'd carefully placed them in the last places he'd look. He found them all. Outsmarted us..."

Hannah straightened with pride. "My son wasn't stupid."

"…Or so he thought." Miranda finished, proving the woman's triumph premature. "No, he wasn't. But neither am I. And John failed to find the other five bugs, which I'd put where I knew he wouldn't look at all. The ones he found, he was supposed to find. I wanted him to feel secure, and there was no way he wouldn't have looked for bugs. Better that he thought he'd gotten them all."

"No reasonable marine would ever assume he'd gotten them all."

"Not unless I threw a tantrum." Miranda agreed. "I tore a carefully calculated strip off of him. Those were there for his safety, afterall. We were just trying to take care of him." she raised a hand imperiously and gave the Admiral a sour imitation of her former self. " 'Those are there for your protection, Shepard. Now I'll have to put in more, you know!' and he said 'I know.' And kept sweeping his room continuously. He never found another bug."

"What did you need to bug his room for?"

"I watched him a lot those first few weeks." Miranda said. "He was Cerberus' latest asset and I wanted to insure that he was performing to my employer's expectations."

"You were spying on him? For the Illusive Man?"

"At first." Miranda admitted. She looked back down into her mug, feeling her cheeks flush. After Illium and Oriana's rescue, she had still watched him. A lot. Still filed status reports with the Illusive Man, but her motives for the observation had been almost entirely her own.

"What changed?" Hannah asked, paying close attention. How her own son, an Alliance commander and council Spectre, had fallen for one of Cerberus' top operatives was high on her list of questions.

"We'll get to that." Miranda told her. "But first I have to tell you about the Collectors."

"Insectoid aliens living beyond the Omega 4 Relay." Hannah said. "I know they were taking colonies. I read Williams' report after the Horizon incident."

"You did?" Miranda was surprised, but she quickly realized she shouldn't have been; Hannah would have been searching for any news of John she could find. If Williams' reaction to him on Horizon had reflected the attitude displayed in her report, it would have been a very difficult thing for Hannah to read.

"It didn't say much about John." Hannah told her. "Just that he was working with Cerberus against the collectors, and wasn't at fault for the colonies being taken."

"She _wrote _that? That we weren't at fault?"

Hannah nodded, surprised at suddenly possessing more information than Miranda. If she'd been smart, she would have found a way to use it. But the Admiral was an honorable woman. Apparently more honorable than Miranda, and she was clearly willing to wait and hear the whole story in the proper order.

Miranda saw a little of John in that. Having the immediate control had never been as important to him as knowing the whole story, understanding the views of all involved, and making his own judgment afterwards. Granted, she had seen less and less of that from him recently, but it had come from somewhere, and it prompted Miranda to perform a quick reevaluation of the woman sitting in front of her.

Miranda shook her head. "Horizon was our first major encounter with the Collectors, and yes, Williams was there. But several important things happened first. The Illusive Man had found proof that the Collectors were actually working for the Reapers. They were stealing human colonists, but we didn't know why at the time." She sat back. "That was John's assignment: Investigate the Collectors. Figure out what they were doing, and stop them. By any means necessary. To that end, the Illusive Man forwarded us dossiers on the most capable warriors and scientists in the galaxy."

"Including a Drell assassin?"

"And a Salarian scientist." Miranda nodded. "Mordin Solus was our first recruit. We found him running a clinic on Omega. We also found someone else there. Have you heard the name Archangel?"

Hannah frowned, trawling her memories for a connection. "Vigilante?"

"A Turian Vigilante." She smiled slightly and echoed her own words: An honorable man, one hell of a sniper, and John's closest friend and ally."

"Garrus Vakarian was Archangel?"

"Yes. He'd become a disenchanted with Citadel Security and the 'Official' way of doing things. So he went off-grid, formed a team of his own and fought back against the gangs. By the time we'd gotten there, his entire team had been slaughtered. He was the only one left, and personally I believe that he fully intended to die there with them."

Miranda sat back and crossed her arms, remembering the strangeness of the situation. "We ran into every member of John's old team during our travels." She said, finding a way to put her thoughts to words. "And with all of them, two years had passed. They were different people then, with their own lives to lead and their own troubles to face… except Garrus. The moment John saw him, they said hello to each other and then went straight to banter and business as if Shepard had just slipped out for a bite to eat. It was almost funny." Her smile faded. "We actually beat the gangs. It was the first time I'd ever seen John put one hundred percent into a battle. He suddenly had purpose. And with Garrus' sniper rifle backing him up…" She shook her head. "I've never felt so damned useless. We worked together quite a lot more and the two of them found room for me on the battlefield. But that day, for every target I eliminated, John and Garrus were hitting a dozen."

"So you fought your way out?"

"Not before Garrus took a gunship's rocket to the shoulder." Miranda said. "I spent an hour of my life with my hand in that Turian's throat, pinching a major artery so that he didn't bleed out. John was a lot friendlier towards me after that. He actually started visiting. Asking questions about Cerberus. I answered as best I could, of course."

"And that's when you two started to…" The Admiral gave her a meaningful look.

"No. John was loyal to Williams. Until Horizon, at least."

"What happened between them?" The Admirals' expression was mournful, and said much about how high her hopes had been for that particular pairing.

Angry jealousy flooded through Miranda, and despite her best efforts to suppress it, she couldn't help but let it show through in her tone. "_John and I_ fought through the colony, saved half the residents and turned its defense towers against the Collector ship, forcing it to take off. We held our ground against Reaper husks, an early form of cannibal, and waves upon waves of Collectors. Their leader had the ability to take control of any soldier on the battlefield. He'd call Shepard out _by name_, and blast us out of cover, take our shields down and hit us with incineration blasts.

"It was a long fight. A brutal fight, and we very nearly didn't make it." She leaned forward, letting a little more anger seep through. "We finished that mission tired, burnt, wounded, and sore as all hell. And then Williams stepped out from behind a crate –completely unscathed, I might add- and told John that by standing up for the colonists, and facing the _real _threat, he was a traitor to everything the Alliance stood for. And then she walked away without even giving him a chance to counter the argument. I was there and I watched the whole things happen."

Hannah sat back, cupping her elbow. Her other hand was pressed thoughtfully against her lips as she considered the claims. Her eyes bored into Miranda's, narrowed slightly and glazed over in concentration.

Eventually, she said, "I disagree with Williams. I think he was in a difficult position, and didn't have many options. It was unfair to him. He _was_ doing the right thing and I'm proud of him for that. But she was just one woman. How could that destroy his faith in us as a whole?"

"One woman he was in love with at the time." Miranda corrected. "One woman who exemplified everything he valued most about humanity and the Alliance. It had been two years for her, but less than a month for him. And if _she _was capable of calling him a traitor…"

Hannah nodded miserably.

Miranda sat back, taking pleasure in knowing she'd driven the point home. "If you asked me to pin down the exact moment when John began to question things. Who were the good guys', and who was _truly_ worth standing behind. Exactly who's orders were worth following… The moment when he began to _really _lose faith in the Alliance… Horizon would be it. Until that point, I think he still believed that he'd be able to get his old crew back together. He'd be able to wrench the Normandy from the Illusive Man's grip, drop _me _off at a random planet –preferably uninhabited- and go back to the citadel.

"That ended with Williams after Horizon. After Horizon he was committed to working with Cerberus and defeating the Collectors _despite _the Alliance. Not alongside them. He made every effort to familiarize himself with the crew. He bought us better rations and began to talk to people other Garrus and Mordin, and found out that we weren't actually so bad afterall-"

She was interrupted by a sudden flood of activity. Crew members began to pour into the empty cafeteria. Miranda activated her omnitool. It was lunchtime for the ship's day crew. She rose from her seat and picked up her cold glass of coffee, beckoning Admiral Shepard to follow.

"We'll find somewhere else and finish the story."

"You don't want to talk about this in front of your crew?" Hannah asked.

Miranda shook her head, eyeing the hungry crowd. She moved out of the way to allow a few marines to sit down, their meal trays heavy with rations. "After Horizon it gets…personal."

She lead the unresisting admiral to the elevator. Hunting for privacy, she pressed the icon to take them to the engineering deck. After a short, silent trip, the enormous door slid open to reveal a stunned Diana Allers, with an empty meal tray tucked under one arm. Her camera was off, but floating at her shoulder; a loyal yet dimwitted pet.

"Miranda!" the woman blurted out, shocked. "I mean… Miss Lawson. _Specialist _Lawson. Sorry. I was going to the cafeteria to take some stock footage-" She spotted Hannah and her face lit up, and she forgot herself. Ignoring Miranda's glare, she said, "Admiral Shepard! Diana Allers, Battlespace. Would you be willing to give an interview? What's it like, being the mother of John Shepard?"

"Stressful?" Hannah joked smoothly. She was suddenly wearing a warm, yet professional smile. She stepped forward and shook Diana by the hand. She had obviously spent a fair amount of time behind the camera, and Miranda found herself taking notes.

"I've followed your program very closely, Miss Allers. But I'm afraid I'm occupied at the moment. Miss Lawson is giving me a tour of the ship." Hannah said. She had a motherly, comforting tone. Very different from her earlier, hostile behavior. "But if you'd like to set up an interview, you can contact my yeoman aboard the Orizaba and we'll settle on an official time."

Allers nodded happily. All three of them knew that the reporter had just been dismissed, but unlike Miranda's cold treatment and stasis field, the encounter had left everyone on amicable terms. Allers moved aside to let both Miranda and the Admiral exit the elevator. The door slid closed, leaving the two women alone in the engineering hallway.

"I imagine she was bothering both you and John almost nonstop, hmm?" Hannah asked.

"Not much… aside from an unfortunate incident when John was in the hospital." Miranda admitted.

"The kiss. I know." Hannah said. "I also know that it was taken down after only an hour of airtime. "I didn't know who you were at the time. I thought you might have been Ashley Williams."

"Williams is dead. And even if she wasn't, well…" Miranda shrugged, starting towards her intended destination: Jack's hidey-hole. "I just told you about Horizon."

"Did he ever try to contact the Alliance?" Hannah asked. "To rebuild his old life?"

"Yes." Miranda smiled grimly as another door slid open, revealing the staircase. She stood back to allow Hannah through. "Once. Ashley William's reaction on horizon dealt some serious damage to John's optimistic, pro-Alliance, pro-council views. But his visit with David Anderson was probably the fatal blow."

* * *

**So… I really have no idea how one would go about rebuilding a mind. But I did a bit of reading and Miranda's explanation sounds plausible enough to my medically uninformed muse. F*ck it. On with it!**

**I'm going to delete all the reviews pertaining to the question I asked earlier. It's not that I don't appreciate the support and advice. But they aren't real reviews and I feel like I'm cheating somehow by boosting the number artificially. Thank you again for your advice and assistance. Now I'll continue writing this.**

**QUICK UPDATE: Turns out I can't delete signed reviews. Should've checked. Sorry guys.**


	21. History: Miranda and Shepard

History: Miranda and Shepard

"Well…" said the Admiral, looking around the cramped, crypt-like space, formerly known as Jack's hideyhole. The biotic criminal's cot was still there, serving as a dumping place for all the garbage and refuse of the Alliance refit. "This is cozy…"

"This is where you go if you don't want prying ears." Miranda explained. "No one visits here. This used to be the home of a biotic serial killer. A product of Cerberus experimentation. She's cooled down apparently works at the Ascension project now. As a teacher."

As she spoke Miranda realized that she had earned the woman's trust, even if the Admiral hadn't realized it yet herself. No one who didn't trust her would dare step alone into a place so far removed from other members of the Alliance. The knowledge filled Miranda with a sense of elation. She had trouble keeping a smile off of her face.

"You said a Cerberus experiment?" Hannah said sharply.

"We improved her biotic powers, no question." Miranda shrugged. "But sometimes… well let's just say that the blind hatred you have of Cerberus is perfectly justified." She chewed her lip. "John took me to Pragia with him when Jack wanted to go. We traveled through the facility she had been housed in. It was… horrifying, to be honest. Even for me, and I was supposed to be the Cheerleader. That was Jack's name for me. I tried to convince myself afterwards that it was a splinter group. A cell which had broken from us and taken our standing orders a little too far."

"Not too far," the Admiral corrected, taking a seat on an empty shipping crate. "To their logical conclusion."

"Perhaps." Miranda joined the Admiral, seating herself on the edge of Jack's bed. The criminal had left her imprint on the place. It still smelled of hostile loneliness and that peculiar sweaty odor which permeated everything the criminal touched. Miranda hadn't had any idea how John had been able to stand having such long conversations with the woman. She just hoped Jack had learned what a shower was before she began teaching. She said, "I was angry at John for taking me down there. I was offended that he'd do something that was so transparent, so obviously intended to make me question things. I resolved not to let it get to me. But it did, in the end."

"What did you find, exactly?" Hannah asked, watching her closely.

"Everything _you'd _expected. Children were smuggled in through shipping containers. Experimented on, dissected, used as cannon fodder to condition Jack. They'd pump her with dopamine and endorphins every time she hurt another test subject. Last I heard, she still gets a warm, fuzzy feeling from crushing other human beings, or tearing us apart with her biotics."

"Sickening."Hannah spat. "And John's defending these people?"

"Not at all." Miranda said immediately. "He was the first to condemn them. However even he had to admit that Jack's… inclinations proved to be quite useful. All we had to do to win any fight was let her enjoy herself."

"Sounds to me like you were just taking advantage of her."

"Oh, we were." Miranda admitted it freely. "I don't think John would ever be willing to admit that fact to anyone. Including himself first and foremost. But I knew it, certainly. I approved, even. At the start." She flashed the Admiral a humorless smile, and found her gaze wandering to the floor in shame. She snorted. "Jack knew it. She and I did not get along."

"How did she and John get along?"

"John?" Miranda laughed. "When the Illusive Man decided to study indoctrination, the first place he _should_ have turned was to John Shepard's former crew. John had a way of cracking you open. Finding just the right words so that you'd let him into your head. And when he was there… he'd disassemble you, fix all your little problems, and put you back together, a far better person than you'd been before."

She met Hannah's eyes. "Your son has an incredible gift, and it's not his combat skills."

"So what was your 'little problem'?" Hannah asked.

Miranda felt herself closing up. The instinct to withdraw was so strong that she actually physically drew herself in, hugging herself and leaning forward until her elbows were resting on her knees. She wasn't ready to talk about it quite yet.

To her relief, Hannah read her body language and took a small amount of pity. "Perhaps we'll get to that?"

Miranda nodded. She took a moment to collect herself. "After horizon, John was… depressed. Williams had meant a lot to him, and her betrayal certainly did a fair amount of damage. We spent a few weeks running small missions and scanning planets on the outer rim. We eliminated some mercenary groups, collected more resources while we waited for the Illusive Man to forward more dossiers, which he eventually did.

"John spent a lot of that time in his cabin during those weeks, or talking to Garrus. He was perfectly polite to us, and functional as far as the mission was concerned. But he was worn down. I heard far less snarky comments about Cerberus, and he began to listen to me a little more closely. I remember a Cerberus Operative had been captured by the Eclipse mercenaries and tortured for information on Lorek. We went down there and eliminated the mercenaries, extracted the data. It was… sensitive information. The sort that could really hurt Cerberus."

"And he didn't forward it to the Alliance?"

"No." Miranda shook her head. "I asked him for it. Argued the point. In the end he decided to sit on it. He kept it on an OSD hidden behind a loose panel in his room. There was nothing I could do, short of breaking into his cabin and stealing it."

"Why didn't you?" Hannah asked.

"I'd asked myself the same question." Miranda frowned. "I don't know. I suppose… he had earned a certain amount of respect. But… we were competing at that point. I was used to being in charge of projects, and I didn't want to take the disc, I wanted him to give it to me. It would have been a victory. A feather in my cap. I couldn't steal it, because then it wouldn't have been any kind of accomplishment. No progress would have been made.

"Shortly after that, John got a message from David Anderson requesting his presence at the citadel." Miranda shifted in her seat, making herself a little more comfortable before she continued. "I suppose Williams had filed the report you read. The council wanted some answers. Cerberus was their sworn enemy, after all. And the council's poster boy was working for them. John arrived expecting a few difficult questions, sure. But he was also still holding out hope that they weren't blind. He told them of our mission, of the Collectors, and the fact that they were working for the Reapers."

Miranda scowled. "I remember the Turian councilor's response very clearly." She held up her hands, making little quotation marks in the air, imitating the Turian's puerile, disdainful tone. "Ah yes, Reapers. The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space." She waved a dismissive hand . "We have dismissed that claim."

"He _said_ that?" Hannah looked shocked.

Miranda nodded. "The entire council had wiped the Reapers clean off the history books, as you probably know. They had buried their heads in the sand. For the rest of my damned life, I'll never forget that quote. I'll never forget John's face either. Everything your son had fought for, every bridge he'd built, every alliance he'd strengthened, every warning he'd offered, every life he'd worked so hard to save… it had all come undone in the intervening years following his death. He was stupefied, disheartened, and absolutely livid."

"I know he was working for Cerberus, but he'd stayed loyal to the Alliance. Loyal to the council. Loyal to everything they apparently stood for. Until Horizon at least, he'd fought argued tooth and nail with the Illusive Man and I at every step possible. He'd done his best to keep himself an Alliance Marine. To not let Cerberus change him. And then the council told him that the only reason he wasn't being executed as a terrorist was because he'd saved their lives. They told him essentially that they didn't care. About anything. He had fought so hard for them, but to them, he was another fly on the goddamned wall. All of his ideals… it was all so much window dressing."

"I bet they're regretting that now." Hannah said darkly.

"Yes, hindsight is always the clearest. But John knew from the very beginning. Ever since he'd been able to understand what the Prothean beacon had burned into his brain, he knew the scale of what was coming. He understood how bad it would get. At best the council were willing to ignore him provided he stayed within the terminus systems. They also offered him back the Spectre Status. As a show of 'peripheral support'." Miranda scoffed. To her surprise, so did the admiral.

"After the meeting, he completely stopped outright dismissal of my suggestions. He began to _really_ work with us. Listen to us. He had realized he was going to have to do his job despite the council and the Alliance, instead of alongside them. He was apologetic… meek, almost. He'd been proven wrong. And do you remember that disc? The OSD with Cerberus information on it?"

"Yes."

"Well he gave it to me the next day. Walked into my office, put it down on my desk, and walked out without saying a word."

"And I'm sure you celebrated…"

"No, actually. I thought I would be. But I wasn't. Instead I felt angry at the council. Indignation on his behalf."

"Really?" Hannah looked surprised. "Why did you care?"

Miranda frowned and crossed her arms. "I remember when I was very young, my father was meeting some business associates at a horse show. He took me along to show me off." She scowled. "Bastard. Anyway, they had an untamed palomino mare there. Beautiful horse. She had a golden coat, long white main. Full of energy and spirit. They broke her. In the ring, in front of a crowd of people. They just… whipped her into shape. Broke her down until she stopped fighting it. She stopped kicking back, bucking, running… fighting. They just worked her and worked her until she gave up. By the end the trainer had her trotting obediently around the ring with a rider on her back. My father and the rest of the audience were clapping, but I found the whole exercise depressing as hell. I felt sorry for the horse."

"I wasn't aware there were many horses left on earth." Hannah said, as she quietly absorbed the analogy.

"There aren't. My father was one of the few people who could afford that kind of luxury." Miranda took a deep breath. "And Perhaps it's time I tell you about my sister."

The Admiral straightened, listening attentively. "Your sister?"

"You remember my father?" Miranda asked.

Hannah nodded.

"Well, I also have a sister. I'm not going to tell you her name, where she is, or what she's doing."

"Why not?"

Miranda tapped the transmitter in her pocket. "Perhaps someday, after Hackett's stopped paying attention. If I'm to be tried alongside John. I'm to be executed as a war criminal, I'm not about to hand over my sister as well."

"Why?" the Admiral asked. "Is she with Cerberus?"

"No. She's entirely innocent. Doesn't know a thing." Miranda answered. "But that won't stop anyone who wants to get at me, or at John. I don't talk about my sister. You already know more than almost every single person I've ever spoken to."

"How did John get it out of you?" Hannah asked, accepting Miranda's silence for the moment.

"I told him outright." Miranda said. "I was desperate. I was running out of time and I needed help, and frankly, I had nowhere to turn, really. We were headed to Illium anyway to pick up Thane Krios and Samara, the Asari Justicar. I asked John for help."

"You didn't mention your sister earlier." The Admiral said sourly.

"No. I didn't."

"Well how big is your family?" Hannah asked. "You've mentioned your father, too. Where was your mother?"

"I didn't have one." Miranda explained. "I am mostly my father's DNA mixed with 'desirable' traits from various different sources."

A slight frown graced the Admiral's features as she stared at Miranda. "You mean you're not… you weren't… aren't…"

"Aren't what?" Miranda asked coldly. She leaned forward and glared at the Admiral. "Aren't human?"

Hannah Shepard's mouth opened and closed several times as she searched for a suitable response. "I'm sorry." She said lamely. "I didn't mean to-"

"You're not the first." Miranda told her. "My father thought the same way. My job was to smile for his photographs, curtsy at his parties, and put trophies on his shelves. I had an extensive and thorough education not for my own future, but so that my father could show my report cards to his friends. I was exposed to Eezo, and trained in biotics. I received lessons on how to play the violin, cello, piano, and French horn. I learned eight different languages, two of them Asari dialects found on Thessia and Illium. The rest, human."

"Well didn't he give you time for play? friends? Even if you didn't have a…"

"Mother?"

"… Yes. You were still a child." Hannah reasoned. "Children need time to-"

"To do what? To be what? Children? That didn't matter to him." Miranda snorted. "I don't think you quite understand what he wanted me to be. He was adding superior stock to humanity's gene pool. I was designed to be the perfect woman A perfect daughter for a perfect dynasty. And when he found out that I wouldn't bow. That I would not break for him and trot around the ring like that pathetic palomino mare, he discarded me and commissioned another to take my place; my sister."

"That's… that's horrifying." Hannah said, absorbing the full weight of Miranda's story.

"There was no way in hell that I was going to let her suffer through the same hell. So one night, I put my biotics and a pistol to good use, and I rescued her."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen? My sister was an infant."

"That was very brave, Miranda." Hannah told her.

Despite her previous anger towards the woman, Miranda felt a small warm glow light up inside of her.

"It was." She said. "Of course, that left me on the run from my father and his hired mercenaries. All I had was the clothing on my back and my baby sister in my arms. I didn't know what to do with myself. Where to go… I knew that eventually Father would catch up. He'd take my sister back into custody, and likely have me killed and blown out an airlock, a failed experiment. That's when the Illusive Man approached me.

"He understood my situation, and knew of my training and education. He offered me a place to use the skills I'd learned, a cause to follow, competent colleagues to work with, and challenges worthy of a 'perfect' woman. More importantly, Cerberus granted my sister Sanctuary. They arranged to have her adopted into a good home with decent parents where she could live a normal life. Have a normal childhood and decide her own future."

"That's why you're loyal to them." Hannah said. There was almost a sense of awe in her voice. "I'd never thought they'd be capable of doing that kind of thing…"

"You misjudged them, then." Miranda said simply. "There was a lot of good in that organization, and in the Illusive Man himself. Cerberus' problem was never its goals. It was in the execution. In return for my sister's protection, I devoted myself to Cerberus and the Illusive Man. The system worked for two decades. Cerberus protected her, and in return… I did anything and everything the Illusive Man wanted done.

"It worked until the Collector mission. I got word through one of my contacts that my father was getting a little too close to my sister's family. He had given up on me, but had never quite given up on finding her. I ordered that the family be moved to a different location, and he sent some mercenaries to intercept them."

"Of course, John helped stop them." Hannah said proudly.

"He did." Miranda affirmed. "Despite everything I represented, everything I'd said and done, he and Garrus picked up their rifles and fought as hard for me as they had against the Collectors on Horizon. I had no right to ask, and he had no reason to help, but he did anyway."

"Because it was the right thing to do." The Admiral said.

"Exactly. And that's what I didn't understand about him. After the fight, we were standing there at Illium's spaceport, watching her and her family wait to board one of the shuttles. The entire place had been locked down because of our firefight with Father's mercenaries. We had an hour or two to wait. John forced me into talking to her."

"You didn't want to talk to your sister?"

"I did." Miranda said. "With all my heart I wanted to. But it had always been safer to keep her at a distance."

"Safety isn't everything." Hannah told her.

Miranda laughed. "John said exactly the same thing."

"So you talked to her, then?"

Miranda nodded, reliving those first tense moments when she'd finally told Oriana the truth. "God, it was…incredible." She whispered. "I'd followed her life closely, of course. Cerberus forwarded me her report cards, pictures, security feeds from her schools… notes on her family life. But watching her talk? Watching her smile and laugh…. listening to her voice for the very first time. I hadn't heard her voice since she was a baby…"

Miranda blinked rapidly, feeling the onset of tears. "Your son gave me that. It's not the sort of thing anyone can repay. I don't think he even knows just how…" she died away into silence, her voice cracking slightly. "How much it meant to me. That one action taught me about everything I'd missed in my life."

Hannah was smiling.

Miranda took another breath. "After that, I watched him a lot. Not on the Illusive Man's behalf anymore, but because I was curious. I wanted to understand him and I didn't understand that talking was the best way to do that. I didn't understand his motives at all. I didn't _get_ honesty, or speaking one's mind. You never did that in Cerberus. Or around my father. That left you exposed. Secrets and hiding were the only way to survive. I couldn't figure him out… and I really wanted to."

"When did it finally turn into…?" Hannah searched for the right words.

"During an argument." Miranda answered the unasked question. "It started as a calm, peaceful discussion about Cerberus' ethics. I was for, of course. John was against. But after Horizon and his visit with the council, his position wasn't a very solid one, and we both knew it. I tried to press the point. Cerberus' methods were the way to go. The only way to get things done. The right way to do it, and I was winning the argument."

"So you were still manipulating him." Hannah said. "Trying to recruit him."

"No!" Miranda shook her head. "I… well yes. I suppose I was. But I wasn't thinking of it quite like that. It was more …personal. I've mentioned about what John does to his crew. At that point, I was just another thrall, and I knew it. He was beginning to question things, and after he helped my sister, so was I. I was confused. Loyal to both him and Cerberus, and I guess I was hoping that by getting him to admit the good things about Cerberus, I could consolidate them, and resolve my own conflicts.

"Besides, I wanted him to approve of Cerberus. And of me, and the choices I'd made during my life. The things I'd done, and the way I'd chosen to do them. I think at that point he was still trying to understand what they were. I'd never been very clear about my personal history. I'd only handed him bits of information. Small facts, only when he absolutely _needed _to know them, and not before. Just enough to get the job done.

"I was hunting for his approval." She felt her face redden slightly. "I wish there was a better way to put it, but…" she chuckled. "There isn't. I was envious. Jealous. Curious. Everyone liked him. Looked up to him. Trusted him. Poured their hearts out to him. and he did the same to them. Especially to Garrus. But everyone shared things with him, and with each other. The engineers would play poker with him down in the engine room. Then he'd talk with Thane, joke around with the pilot and Tali. He'd listen to Mordin, and meditate with Samara. The crew followed his example. They began to move around. Talk with each other. Laugh together, share their lives and their stories and be part of that team. That… that family he'd created.

"And here I was, the Cerberus Cheerleader. The black sheep. The long hand of the Illusive Man. There to watch and spy and probe and make life miserable for them all."

Hannah was nodding sympathetically.

"I wanted it, too. I wanted to be a part of that crew. That family." Miranda admitted. "I didn't know how, and every time I made to approach anyone, they'd close up even more. They'd act hostile. I'd ask a question and they'd hear the Illusive Man's voice. To some of them, everything I did, everything I _touched _was a Cerberus plot. There was always an angle I was supposedly playing."

"Well in all fairness to them…" Hannah began awkwardly.

Miranda nodded. "I know. I know what you're going to say, and you're right. You're absolutely right. And if it'd been any other cell. Any other time. Any other situation, they would have been right as well. But… I'd never seen anything like what John was doing to that crew. Being the outcast. The Ice Queen would have been something I could have handled if they'd been colleagues. Subordinates. But the way John was building his team, they were friends and family. They treated each other as such. It was something I'd never seen before. A trust and commitment that I'd never been a part of, and didn't really know how to deal with."

She shook her head. "I ended up taking meals in my cabin. Closing myself off more. If the cold Cerberus bitch was all I was going to be allowed to be, then I was going to do a good job of it. John found out. Bastard started delivering my meals himself, and eating_ his_ meals with me."

"That lead to a lot of awkward silences?"

"Animated conversation." Miranda said. "Eventually we dropped the pretense of meals entirely and just skipped to the talking. He was a lot smarter than I'd given him credit for. He was thoughtful and very observant. He wouldn't let me close up. We discussed… everything. Politics, music, philosophy, pop culture. John's tastes are… very different from my own. I'd been raised to believe that the only things worth pursuing were those at the top. The cream of the crop. Everything else deserved nothing but scorn. Vids like Blasto were banal wastes of time. As were bands like Varrencage, Skinsuit, and Eff Tee El. I was raised on classical music, and I love it to this day…"

"It doesn't remind you of your father?"

"Sometimes." Miranda admitted. "But when I hear the beauty of an arrangement like the violins in the first movement of Vivaldi's Winter…" she shook her head. "It's stunning. And with John… I finally found someone I could share it with. Granted, John never appreciated it in quite the same way I did. He's... crude in his tastes. My father would have called him a troglodyte. Which made it all the better. Eventually we were comfortable enough to talk about the Alliance and Cerberus. It was during one of those ethical discussions that we had an…incident."

Hannah frowned "How bad was it?"

"Not bad at all." Miranda said. "Somehow the subjected of my father was broached. I'd been pressing John particularly hard about Cerberus' ethics. Drawing parallels between our actions and his stealing the Normandy to go after Saren. That one hit him hard, so he started teasing."

"Teasing?"

Miranda nodded, replaying the scene in her head. "About my genetic tailoring. Called himself a Mutt, if I remember."

"John…" Hannah said, indignantly.. "I suppose I should be offended by that."

"Bastard was winding me up." Miranda told her, "Playing off my arrogance. He knew exactly what he was doing."

"That's still not-"

"So did I. And I didn't make any move to stop him." Miranda smiled. "I joined in, in fact, and teased him back. Pushing eachother's buttons was something we had gotten used to. It was almost a game. Somewhere along the line it turned into flirting. There had always been a certain amount of …tension… between John and I. I can't tell you why it all came to a head during _that _conversation on _that _day. I can't tell you who made the first move either, but suddenly we weren't flirting anymore."

Hannah sat back, letting out a long breath. "That must have complicated things…"

"It did." Miranda nodded. "The days following, I was so confused. John was civil enough to give me some time to sort it all out. The conflict of loyalties was stressful. After all, I was still spying on him for the Illusive Man. Added to that the mission complications…"

"Change of priorities." Hannah said sympathetically. "My husband and I dealt with the same problem when John was on his way. We were considering splitting up. Getting on board different ships so there was less of a chance one of us would have to make the hard choice."

"Yes, well as we soon discovered, we had it worse." Miranda said. "Did I mention that this mission against the Collectors was a suicide mission?"

* * *

**No, I didn't pick Vivaldi's Winter because Miranda is an "Ice Queen". I picked it because it's a genuinely FANTASTIC piece of music. Absolutely stunning. Especially the first movement of that concerto.**

**This chapter was super super long. Hopefully it made up for the wait. I was working on Fallout.**


	22. History: The Collectors

History: The Collectors

"A suicide mission, huh?" Hannah surveyed Miranda with a worried look. "You spent seven billion credits bringing my son back to life, just so you could send him through the Omega 4 relay to kill himself again?"

"I think the Illusive Man always suspected that there was a chance we'd survive it." Miranda said, somewhat taken aback by the Admiral's reaction. She had expected a much bigger outburst. "But our odds were always low."

"John apparently has a way of beating the odds."

"He did!" Miranda announced enthusiastically. "We didn't lose a man. Not one! Not a single goddamned casualty!"

"Putting aside the Collectors themselves for a moment, how did you even make it there and back?" Hannah asked. "No ship ever has. Let's start with that."

"The Collectors were working for the Reapers. The Reapers built the relays. They didn't want anyone getting curious about the Collectors, so they had the Omega 4 relay installed with an IFF system to prevent ships from surviving the trip. The destination is inside the galactic core, and there's a small pocket on the other side. A few thousand kilometer sphere where ships can fly around without the gravitational interference of black holes. _That's _where the Collector space station was."

"And the IFF?"

"We first found out it existed by infiltrating their vessel. The same one, by the way, that had destroyed the original Normandy." Miranda grimaced, remembering the strange unworldly stench, and red shadows. "They'd been disabled by the Turians, or so we thought. Turned out that they had set a trap for us with the specific intention of catching John. They were broadcasting false turian distress signals to lure us in. The Illusive Man picked it up."

"And he didn't detect it was false?" Hannah asked skeptically.

"Oh, he did." Miranda said. "He just didn't tell us."

"He let you walk unknowingly into a trap?"

Miranda nodded.

"Why didn't he at least tell you?" Hannah demanded indignantly.

"He didn't want overly cautious behavior tipping off the collectors."

"That's not the right way to perform an operation like that!"

"It isn't?" Miranda asked innocently. "As opposed to what? Convening a council to commission a team to write a report to decide on whether or not we could ask the politicians to ask the Turians if we could sneak a peek at it?" Miranda smiled. Hannah was glaring at her again, but didn't say anything. "That strategy might have worked, actually. I think the Collectors on board may have died of old age by the time we finally got around to acting. Or perhaps the Reapers would have come-"

"Enough!" Hannah said sharply. "If you're going to ask me to respect the positive side of Cerberus' methods, you're going to have to do the same for the Alliance."

Miranda opened her mouth, about to spit out an acidic response. She managed to bite it back. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Said Hannah, letting her ruffled feathers settle.

"But we needed to act, and the Illusive Man had enough faith in John and I that he felt we could see it through. None of us liked being on the receiving end of it, but that's how Cerberus operated, and as I've already said, John didn't have that many options."

"He should have told you." Hannah said shortly.

"But he didn't."

"But he should have."

"But he didn't." Miranda said again. "It's Cerberus. At best we played things close to the chest. Everything worked out. It was tense for a little while, but John and Garrus and I managed to get the data we needed and escape. We also found out another interesting fact: the Collectors were to the Protheans what husks are to humans."

Hannah raised her eyebrows in shock. "Protheans? They're Prothean?"

"Not anymore. But they _had_ been." Struck by a sudden thought, Miranda's brows knitted. "I wonder if they were the Cerberus of their cycle…"

"But… Protheans…" Hannah said, trying to convey her confusion. "They aren't giant… insects."

"I can't tell you what they were and weren't like." Miranda replied. "All I can tell you is what we found. And the Collectors used to be Prothean. All the data is in the Cerberus archives along with everything else. And in the end it's inconsequential. What matters is that we learned about the Reaper IFF. The next task was to go fetch one."

"Not the sort of thing one could buy from Omega." Hannah guessed.

"Correct. Thankfully, Cerberus had found a derelict Reaper."

"Are you serious?" Hannah leaned forward eagerly. "Where?"

"It's gone now." Miranda said, noting the admiral's immediate disappointment. "It was orbiting Mnemosyne. It had been disabled by a mass effect cannon, from a cycle before the Protheans. The same cannon had created Klendagon's giant rift."

"Where's the cannon?"

"I don't know that either. Look in the Cerberus Archives." Miranda suggested. "As for the Reaper, John put off exploring it for quite some time. Every member of the team needed some favor or other. Turned out I was ahead of the curve in asking for his assistance with my sister. As I stated earlier this was a suicide mission, and several members of our crew wanted to tie up loose ends before they died."

"What was Garrus Vakarian's request?"

Miranda leaned forward, tenting her fingers thoughtfully. "When we first found Garrus, he was trying to commit suicide by mercenary. Working under the name Archangel, he'd put together a squad of his own. A squad of vigilantes who worked to undermine the gangs and disrupt their operations.

"It worked for a while, but eventually he was betrayed. I don't know the details, except that a Turian named Sidonis gave up the entire squad in exchange for his own life. Garrus had tracked him to the citadel."

"And killed him?" Hannah guessed.

"Tried to." Miranda said. "Wanted to, at first. John stopped him. I watched him stand between his best friend and the man who'd betrayed him. It was the only thing in the universe that would have stopped Garrus from carrying out his mission. And it was a close-run thing at that. He would have had to kill John to get Sidonis."

"And you were planning ways to protect John?"

"I wasn't, actually." Miranda told her. "That was the first time during a mission that I was completely lost. I didn't want Garrus to kill John, and I was afraid he was going to, but if I'd killed Garrus, John would never have forgiven me."

"What happened in the end?"

"Garrus backed down. Sidonis had not been sleeping well, to put it mildly. Guilt had eaten away at him until there was barely a husk left. Vakarian recognized the fact, and let him live."

Hannah sat silently, deep in thought. Miranda took a moment to rise and stretch her legs. Her throat was beginning to get dry as well, though she wasn't prepared to head back up to the mess until she was sure it was clear of marines.

"What were some of the other missions?" the Admiral asked curiously.

"Thane Krios had a son he wanted to track down…" Miranda said, listing off the ones she could remember off the top of her head. "Tali'Zorah had been accused of treason against the Quarian fleet. I don't know the details; John and Garrus sorted it out. We had an adolescent Krogan who needed to undergo a few rites. That's why we visited Tuchanka. That, and helping Mordin."

"Krogan rites?"

"John and Garrus had to help him face down a thresher maw." Miranda told her. "To be honest, watching that battle from the safety of the Normandy was… difficult."

"You weren't down there with him?"

Miranda shook her head. "Not on every mission. Not even after we were together. Again, Garrus was his partner. Those two defined the Normandy, and Shepard's accomplishments. Not me."

"So what as the hardest thing you ever had to sit out on?"

"It wasn't a combat mission. It was… a different kind of mission." Miranda said. "Have you ever heard of an Ardat Yakshi?"

"I was briefed on them as soon as Banshees started to show up on our battlefields." Hannah said. "Abhorrent, insidious creatures."

"Yes…" Miranda's gaze wandered off into the middle distance as she rubbed her hands together distractedly. "Well… Our resident Justicar was a mother of three. One of them had gone renegade, and she had made it her life's mission to hunt her daughter down and kill her."

"Wow…" Hannah whistled.

"John wanted to-" Miranda stopped, forcing the statement out. "That is, Samara wanted him to let the Ardat Yakshi …seduce him."

The Admiral raised her eyebrows. "He _what_?"

"He was going to go to a bar and put himself on display like a piece of meat. You know… when I was on the ground, fighting alongside him, or even caught up in the ship, watching a thresher maw or a horde of krogan bearing down on him…" Miranda shrugged. "I was able to deal with it. But watching him toss himself out as bait for a creature like that… it was a little too different. Too personal. I didn't know how to deal with it."

"What did you do?" Miranda had seen John's mother caught off-balance many times over the course of their conversation, but not to quite such a severe extent as she looked at that moment. She was wearing the look of every angry parent who ever found out their teenaged child was secretly experimenting with drugs and booze, or staying out far later than their bedtimes. It was almost comical, except that Miranda remembered the stress and possessive jealousy all too clearly.

"I protested." She answered. "He went anyway, of course. She nearly had him. If Samara hadn't arrived when she did…" she let the thought hang in the air. "He told me afterwards that it was thoughts of me that helped him resist her sway. It was comforting at the time, but to this day, I'm not sure whether or not he was being honest. I'd like to believe him, but…"

Hannah let out a long breath. She smiled in disbelief and leaned back against the crates. "This is all so… I never would have guessed…it's like something out of the vids…"

"Doing the impossible was the norm on board this ship. I can't tell you how many times we pulled off miracles in the eleventh hour. To most of us, being on board, accomplishing those tasks… it was extraordinary. But John and Garrus… and Tali as well to a lesser extent, to them it was simply another day at the office. They were so calm all the time. I had no idea how they managed to keep it all together. I still don't. We could do anything. Face down thresher maws, walk into abandoned starships full of hostile aliens, and two of them would stay completely cool."

"Speaking of abandoned starships…" Hannah reminded her. "You were about to tell me about a derelict reaper…"

"…Right." Miranda took a moment to shift gears. "We had to board it to retrieve a reaper IFF which would allow us to pass through the Omega 4 relay and confront the Collectors. A Cerberus team had been sent to extract the IFF and study the derelict reaper. We'd lost contact with them."

"They'd all been indoctrinated and turned into husks?" Hannah guessed.

"Of course."

"Of course."

"There were so many of them." Miranda remembered. "What made it worse was that I recognized a few of them. I'd worked with some of them over the course of my career."

"Did you try to talk to them?"

"No. I gunned them down. Whomever they were before, they weren't anymore. They were nothing more than a threat. We got the reaper IFF, and more importantly, we met Legion."

"Legion?"

"A friendly Geth platform." Miranda watched the Admiral's face. "Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it? It did to me at the time."

"John took it along?"

"I told him to. I wanted it turned over to Cerberus for study. John disagreed. Instead, he woke it up. Talked to it. Learned more about the Geth than even the Quarians knew. Tali hated it at first, but it- _he_ grew on all of us."

"What did you learn about the Geth?"

"They're peaceful." Miranda told her. "They didn't want to fight. Those that attacked Eden Prime, and caused the galaxy so much trouble had been infected with a reaper virus. Legion led us to a space station controlled by the heretic Geth forces. He wanted to either destroy them, or re-write them."

"John destr…" Hannah frowned and shook her head. "No. He didn't, did he? He re-wrote them."

Miranda smiled at her. "Not what Cerberus would have done. Not what the Alliance would have done either. The fact is neither group really understood what it would take to beat the Reapers. We're two sides of the same coin. The same xenophobia. The same human-centric goals and ideals. John knew better than both of us. He understood, and still understands that against the Reapers, we couldn't afford that. It was all or nothing. The entire galaxy standing as one, looking out for each other, or every race being picked off one by one, torn apart by their own inner squabbles and distrust. We can't afford that anymore. Not even between synthetics and organics."

"I suppose it's worked out for the best. I mean, they're helping the Quarians on Rannoch right now. Both fleets were there to retake earth…"

"God…" Miranda said reflectively. "You know, I offered John a sizeable cash bounty in exchange for Legion. If he'd listened to me in that board room, it very well could have resulted in an entire race being driven to extinction. I'm glad he didn't. And I'm glad he decided to let Legion go. It was a galaxy changing move."

"It certainly was." Hannah agreed. "So after you got Legion on your side, what was the next step? What happened next?"

Miranda looked down at her hands. "I made a mistake. Nearly cost us the mission."

Hannah leaned forward, watching her closely, a look of confusion on her face.

"We were heading to our next stop. We needed some time to get the IFF installed, and the ship was vulnerable. I ordered the entire away team into the shuttle so that John could pick and choose who he wanted to take with him. I wasn't sure what we'd encounter, and wanted to be prepared."

"Sounds… reasonable enough." Hannah said thoughtfully.

"It was bloody stupid!" Miranda said angrily. "It left the ship vulnerable. While we were out, the Normandy was boarded by the Collectors. They took every single crewman except Joker. He managed to vent the hangar and get the ship to safety, leaving us stranded for a time."

Hannah winced in sympathy. "They took your entire crew?"

"Every damned one!" Miranda fumed, rubbing her face, "They had no one there to defend them."

The Admiral felt moved to offer her some measure of comfort. "We have a tendency to think that the only threat to the crew of a starship, is another starship. Boarding is a rare tactic. Impractical at the best of times. You couldn't have expected it."

Miranda snorted. "Now you sound like John."

"How did he take it?"

"He ordered us straight through the Relay after them."

"Without any prep work at all?" Hannah looked shocked. "That's a little risky."

"The ship had been upgraded with a reinforced hull, extra shielding, and a new thanix cannon, which Garrus never stopped tinkering with. Our weapons were the best on the market, and by that time…" Miranda shrugged. "We were as prepared as we could get."

"Well I'm sure it was a tense couple of hours." Hannah said. "I've been on risky missions before, but never a suicide run. How did you prepare for a one-way trip like that?"

"Umm…" Miranda's mind flew instantly to those precious hours in the engine room. She felt herself blush. Thankfully, John's mother seemed to catch the fact that she'd stumbled onto something intensely private. She backed off, brow furrowed slightly.

"So did you make it through the relay alright?"

"We did." Miranda tried to flush the engine room out of her mind; no easy feat. "We made it through and managed to board the Collector base. "We even found and saved the entire crew."

"That's incredible."

"It seemed like that at the time." Miranda agreed. "It was supposed to be a suicide mission, and we didn't even suffer a casualty. Mordin escorted the crew back to the Normandy. Garrus and I alternated leading our own squads, taking several different routes through the base, and supporting John's fireteam whenever possible. It was a tense fight. There were several moments when I wasn't entirely sure any of us were going to make it out at all. But John saw us through. I'm not sure if more is owed to his skill or his luck.

"We fought to the center of the base, and had the rest of the squad stand as a rear guard while John and Garrus and I continued forward on our own. We knew that they had been abducting colonists, and melting them down into base organic components, but we didn't know why."

"You found out." Hannah prompted.

"They were using our base genetic codes to build a human reaper." Miranda told her.

"_A what?_" the Admiral stared at her, incredulous.

"Its corpse is currently at Cronos Station." Miranda said, frowning. "This shouldn't be a shock to you."

"Its corpse… are you sure it's a corpse?"

Miranda nodded confidently. "Yes, because the boys and I had to turn it into one. The thing was the size of a building. Shaped like a human skeleton, roaring at us and firing reaper beams. It was knocking our platforms out from under us, calling in Collector reinforcements. It was the hardest firefight of my entire life."

"Nothing short of orbital strike can take out Reapers, though." Hannah reasoned. "How could three soldiers with small arms hope to do any damage at all?"

"We had several advantages." Miranda counted them off on her fingers. "Firstly, it was a Larval Reaper. Not nearly completed. Secondly, Both John and Garrus had Widow sniper rifles, designed to take down motor vehicles. And thirdly, John had brought an M90 Cain with him."

"Ah." Hannah nodded. "_That_ would do it…"

"It was still a difficult task. Garrus and I concentrated on keeping the Collectors at bay while John picked away at the larvae. We finally took the thing down. It collapsed on our platforms. The floor just dropped away." Miranda winced, replaying the frantic memory. It was ingrained in her mind, she knew. Something she would never forget. "I was sliding down. I couldn't' stop. John leapt after me without a second thought. Caught me by the wrist just as I dropped off the edge of the platform."

"Very heroic."

"He saved my life, but by then all the platforms were in freefall." Miranda frowned. "I honestly can't remember what happened next. I woke up a short while later. We'd landed, somewhere in the lower levels of the base. John was getting both Garrus and I to our feet. We barely made it back to the Normandy. John had to take another leap of faith to make it aboard. He nearly didn't. But Garrus was there to catch him." she shrugged. "We took off, the detonators we'd set inside the base exploded. Collectors defeated, larval Reaper killed…our job was done."

"I somehow can't imagine the Illusive Man just giving up a resource like a larval Reaper." Hannah said. "Wouldn't he want to study it?"

"He did. I was getting to that. Do you remember what you first asked me when you came aboard?" Miranda reminded her. "You asked why I quit Cerberus."

"The Illusive Man ordered you to kill my son." Hannah said.

Miranda nodded. "He offered John an alternative: rather than destroy the base, Shepard could keep it intact and merely wipe out the Collectors and any living colonists inside it. We could save all the technology including the larval Reaper. John disagreed."

"And you?" Hannah was watching her carefully.

Miranda said, "I can't explain to you how horrific that base was. How immoral. How …disgusting it all was."

"It does sound like a nightmare." Hannah said.

"I know that it gave _me_ several." Miranda admitted. "But it had to be destroyed. I never truly believed in good and evil until I saw that base. I thought those terms were antiquated. Useless for explaining the moral complexity of the Galaxy. But the Reapers are evil. The Collectors were evil, and so was their base. It had to be destroyed. That was John's opinion. And mine."

"The Illusive Man didn't take kindly to that, I take it?"

"He did not." Miranda affirmed. "He ordered me to kill John Shepard. I resigned instead."

"That would have put your sister at risk."

"It put everything I knew and valued at risk." Miranda said. "But I would rather have lost it all then pulled the trigger on John myself. I quit Cerberus for him. And for myself. They'd finally taken things a step further than I could stomach. For the first time, I felt ashamed to have been a part of them."

Hannah smiled. "That was a brave thing to do."

"It nearly cost me everything." Miranda told her, once again feeling that inner glow. "I spent the reaper war just trying to dodge Cerberus assassins and find my sister. But we'll get to that too."

"What did you and John do after the Base was destroyed?"

"Stopped at Illium for repairs. It was… blissful." Miranda told her honestly. "I hadn't been on a proper vacation in… god… fifteen? Twenty years? John and I spent most of our time up in the cabin, or roaming Illium's markets. We spent every day just… just being together. Spending time with each other."

"You haven't told me what your crew thought of your romance."

"John had just pulled them all through a suicide mission. Zero casualties. Minimal damage to our ship. They weren't about to question a damned thing!" Miranda said triumphantly. "And they were perfectly happy to give John and I a little free time while they took over the repairs. It was the least they could do." She smiled, reminiscing. "I'd never been to the movies. I'd kept myself updated of course. It was part of my job. Pop culture is a vital part of most of my covers. But I'd never gone there for fun. Just gorged myself on popcorn and let the plot carry me away. John taught me how to enjoy life like a regular person. Showed me all there was beyond Cerberus. I'd never realized until then, just how much of a robot I'd been. Just how much I'd been missing. I was finally able to take the weight off my own shoulders for an afternoon; forget work and just enjoy living." Her face fell. "Until…"

"Until Bahak…" John voice echoed from the darkness behind Miranda. Both women jumped. They turned, responding to the sound of quiet footsteps as Shepard emerged from the gloom. He was holding Garrus' visor in a tight grip, and wore a resolute expression. His anger was still there, Miranda could see it in his sharp blue eyes. But it was focused now. Instead of the rudderless fury he'd been displaying before, this anger was quieter. It had direction, and purpose. Clearly Miranda hadn't been the only one re-running the past few years, looking for the truth.

"Bahak." He said again, his voice bitter. "Where the Alliance hung me out to dry for one last goddamned time."

* * *

**I posted a letter about the EC before, but was rather impolitely reminded of this sites rules by another user. So I'll do what every other author is doing, and attach it to a proper chapter this time.**

**A letter to Bioware**

**I don't know if any Bioware employees will ever read this. I hope they do. Because I just played the extended cut, and it did everything I hoped it would. It answered some vital questions, clarified vital details, and gave hope back to me, the player. Hope for the Mass Effect universe, and the civilization therein. The one I've spent five years trying to save.**

**Everything I wanted to see was in there, and the heartache I'm feeling right now is from knowing that one of the greatest gaming trilogies ever made has now come to a satisfying conclusion. Garrus, and the rest of the Normandy's crew were shown mourning Shepard's death, and celebrating his (or her) accomplishments. **

**The love interest (Miranda, in my case) was the last thing Shepard thought of, and the shot of her staring mournfully up at the stars was all the closure I really needed from that relationship. It was enough for me. **

**I have no doubt there will be fans who disagree with me, and that is their right. Even I still have gripes. Nitpicks. But they are just that: nitpicks. The unreasonable among us demand the moon and stars when you can't realistically deliver. But I want you to know that with this new ending, you gave me everything I was hoping for, and five years of great gaming and incredible stories has been given back.**

**You guys did it. You pulled this series out of the fire, and gave it an ending worthy of the Mass Effect title. You've restored my faith in your company's ability to rise above and beyond the industry standards time and time again. You've shown that despite everything, your love of good stories, good writing, good gaming, and of course the fans (as huge a pain in the ass as we may be sometimes) is still intact.**

**So in case this letter reaches the eyes of any Bioware employee, I wanted to thank you. Thank you for having the wisdom to recognize when you dropped the ball, and thank you for having the courage to pick it back up again when so many people were telling you it belonged there on the ground.**

**-Commandocucumber**

**P.s. I'm still going to continue this fic because I'm having too much fun writing it, but thank you for ending this series, and this …disagreement… on a high note.**


	23. History: Arrival and the Reaper War

History: Arrival and the Reaper War

Miranda rose to her feet, unsure of John's next move. The man was angry, but neither his stance, nor his expression were openly hostile to either woman. She wondered how long he'd been listening in on their conversation. He moved forward in a slow, loping gait, and slid a discreet arm about her waist. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers for a moment, and she felt him relax slightly. They both closed their eyes, momentarily losing themselves.

"Your mother is right over there, John." She murmured quietly.

"Well you're not going anywhere, are you?" he asked.

Miranda shook her head.

"So she's just going to have live with this." He pulled away. "Mind if I join you?"

"Depends…" She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

John nodded understandingly. He confronted his mother, who leaned back against the crates, stock still and silent as the grave. They stared at each other for a few moments while he collected himself.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I was out of line earlier."

"I'm sorry too. I never expected my own son to say things like that." Hannah told him wretchedly.

John nodded. "I know how it must have felt. But I looked at you and all I saw was every person who ever told me that the Reapers weren't real. That they weren't a threat. That I was crazy, or a rabble-rouser. Every single person who ignored my warnings. I have plenty of people to be angry at, but this war wasn't your fault, and you're not a scapegoat. It was unfair."

There was a tense moment of uncertainty. Then Hannah relaxed. "Thank you, John." her gaze travelled down to the visor in his hand. "Is that Garrus Vakarian's?"

"He's not 'that Turian' anymore?" John asked, his voice carefully controlled. He moved to Jack's bed and took a seat beside Miranda, his extra weight making the joints creak slightly.

"Miranda's told me quite a lot about what you've been through." Hannah explained evenly. If I'd known even half of this earlier I would have been far less… judgmental."

"Well you know _her_ name now, too." John said, still keeping his voice carefully blank. "I suppose that's a start."

"John." Miranda warned.

"Sorry." He said absentmindedly. His brow furrowed, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a water bottle. Miranda took it gratefully and began to take generous sips, letting it soothe her mouth. It felt like she'd done more talking in the past few hours than she had during the entirety of the reaper war.

"Can I ask you two a question?" the Admiral inquired, gently stepping over her son's jabs.

"Of course." Miranda said immediately.

"You and John were around a lot of Reaper tech." Hannah observed. "Weren't either of you ever worried about indoctrination?"

"It.. kept me up some nights." Miranda admitted. "But I had more important things to worry about."

Hannah's gaze shifted to her son. "And you?"

"There's the odd quiet minute when I'm sure I can hear the buzzing." John admitted. "Or I could just be paranoid as hell. It's like Saren said though. I can think my way out of a paper bag, so I'm still me. Or enough of me to get the job done. I think at this point, the only people who've had more exposure than me are the ones studying it outright. And Kenson was the classic case. Textbook."

"Kenson?" Hannah asked.

"I'm sorry," John leaned forward. "I thought we were on to Bahak."

"Right." Hannah said.

"It happened…" he glanced at Miranda. "two months after blowing up the Collector base?"

"About that." She agreed.

"I got a message from Admiral Hackett late one evening." Shepard began. "It was Hackett. He wanted me to find an old friend of his called Amanda Kenson." He turned to Miranda. "I've forgotten where you were at the time… you weren't in the cabin with me."

"Supervising the Silaris armour repairs?" Miranda mused. "I don't know…"

"I was ready to tell him to go to hell." John continued. "But then he said she'd found evidence of the Reaper's imminent invasion."

"Not something you could ignore." Hannah said.

"She'd been captured by the Batarians and was being held on Aratoht terrorism charges. He wanted me to go in alone and rescue her."

"Alone?"

"Yes." John frowned. "It was a little more personal for Hackett than most of the stuff. He'd known Kenson personally apparently. I got the impression they may have been involved at some point in time. Still…"

"I don't understand why you agreed." Miranda murmured. "…Three days, John."

"I don't want to open that up again." He replied, pleading. "Please, Miri."

"Do you have any idea how terrified I was?" she demanded, staring at him hard.

"As scared as I was wandering through Sanctuary." He replied. "Especially when I found out Kai Leng was there."

"Liara mentioned that." Miranda kissed him on the cheek. "Charging a Banshee with nothing but your OmniBlade is damned stupid."

"So is wandering alone into a Cerberus facility while it's under attack by the Reapers."

Miranda crossed her arms and glared at him playfully. "I made it through just fine, thank you very much."

"So did I."

"I'm sorry to interrupt…" Hannah chimed in.

"Right… Kenson." John expression turned sour. "Hackett wanted me to take a stealthy approach. He didn't trust Cerberus, either so I wasn't to inform them."

"I'm amazed you followed that instruction." Hannah said.

"I wish you hadn't." Miranda added.

"Definitive. Reaper. Proof." John replied to both of them. "Worth everything. Imagine if we'd been able to present it to the council, Miranda. I could have said 'I fucking told you so!'. I could have legitimized Cerberus, or at least our cell..."

"You still could have told me you were going!" she said. "I know how to keep secrets, John."

He sighed and shook his head. Not denying her, but trying to move past what was rapidly turning into an argument. He said, "I took a shuttle down to the base and snuck inside. The place was a mess, but I managed to find Kenson and extract her. She seemed… alright. Perfectly normal. I had no idea she'd been indoctrinated. We ended up commandeering one of their shuttles and flying out.

"We had a nice long talk aboard that shuttle. Destroying the relay? It was _her_ plan, not mine. She said she'd found proof the Reapers were going to be arriving in that system, and they were going to destroy the Relay to stop them. Or at least slow them down and buy us a few more months…"

"Wait… what proof?"

"Object Rho. A Reaper artifact." John shrugged. "She said that it had given her a vision similar to the one I got from the Prothean Beacon on Eden Prime. It sounded reasonable, and she assured me she'd taken the proper precautions for avoiding indoctrination."

"It still sounds suspicious."

"It did." John nodded. "But I figured if she were working for the Reapers, she'd have simply shot me in the back already. She had plenty of chances while we were escaping the prison. She took me to their project base. They'd set it up on the very asteroid they were going to ram into the relay."

He shifted uncomfortably. "First thing I saw when I stepped off the shuttle was a countdown timer. Two days and three and a half hours until the Reapers arrived."

"Very precise." Hannah observed.

"They had it counting down the seconds…" John said. "They'd been measuring the artifact. Energy waves or something. It was counting down, and they worked off of its own estimation. It was a scary thing to watch. That's when it really hit home, just how screwed we all were…"

"I can imagine." The Admiral said sympathetically.

"She took me right to the heart of their lab. Object Rho was just sitting there in the middle of the room. It looked like some giant …purple…" he searched for a good word. "…flower."

Miranda sniggered, despite herself

John couldn't help but smile with her. "That's when I got _really_ worried."

"What did you do?"

"Waited a few seconds too long." John said, "The thing blasted a vision of the Reaper invasion into my brain. By the time I'd recovered, Kenson already had her guards in the room. The entire base had been indoctrinated. I fought, but…" he shook his head. "They took me down."

"I'm sure you did your best, John." Miranda said.

"Have you heard this story before, Miranda?" Hannah asked.

The former operative nodded. "John told me all of it after he got back on board the Normandy."

"If there ever was a moment when I could have been indoctrinated… that was it. But I woke up two days later in their med-bay." John continued. "There were only two hours left on the clock. I broke out and flew the asteroid into the Relay, escaping just a few minutes before the Relay was destroyed, and only a few minutes before the Reapers arrived. I had another conversation with Harbinger along the way. Bastard gave the usual speech: You cannot prevent your own destruction! You will kneel before us… blah blah blah…" He sat back proudly. "_Shepard, you have become an annoyance_! _That_ one was nearly a compliment."

"You spoke to the Reaper?"

"A few of them. Harbinger wasn't the first." John grinned. "They're all enormous Hams. They love their doom speeches."

"Did you at least try to warn the colonies?"

"No." John shook his head. "They would have tried to interfere. I wasn't going to chance that."

"Three hundred thousand, John!"

"How many fucking _Trillions_, Mother?" he replied, outmatching her confrontational tone. "Cold numbers! That's what it came down to in this war. Which action would provide the most support where it was most needed."

"You gave _me_ resources." Miranda cut in quietly. "Alliance resources when I needed them. I'm sure they could have been better spent elsewhere."

John responded immediately. "Whatever it took to keep _you_ alive. I didn't fight this war for nothing, you know."

Miranda beamed.

"What about saving the Galaxy?" Hannah suggested heatedly. "What about Earth?"

"Yeah…" he snapped. "That didn't matter to the Alliance until it was already lost!"

"I don't understand why you turned yourself in at all." Hannah said. "Thus far you hadn't really played by the rules when the Reapers were involved…"

"I…" John frowned, trying to put the complex emotional reasoning into words. "Do you remember when I was a little kid, Mom? I had a sweet tooth."

"Yes, you did."

"And you'd tell me again and again: John, don't eat too much candy or you'll get cavities."

"You never listened to me." Hannah said, smiling.

"I didn't." John agreed. "I remember a few times when you got so fed up with it you'd just say: Fine then, get your damned cavities! And when your teeth are aching like mad, and falling out, remember that I warned you!" he sat back with a certain smugness in his tone. "See if I care! And don't you dare come whining to _me_!"

"You can't seriously have been that childish!" Hannah replied, horrified. "How many lives were at stake, John?"

He shrugged in reply. "I don't know. The Alliance didn't seem to care. Why should I have?"

"You _wanted_ the Reapers to invade?"

"Did the Alliance? Because judging by their behavior…" John frowned slightly. He leaned forward and put his hands together. "I don't think you quite understand where I was -and still _am_- coming from, Mom. I didn't care then, and I _really _don't now! One man can't carry the weight of an entire galaxy on his shoulders! I had to stop, otherwise I would have driven myself insane! I warned the Alliance. I told you repeatedly what would happen, and you did _nothing_ to prevent it. Sure enough, what happened six months later?" he asked, "The Reapers attacked. From that moment on, it was 'Shepard, Shepard, save us! You're our only hope!'. Six months of warning you on a daily basis. Six more months of being ignored. Six months _away from Miranda_! All for doing _exactly _what the Alliance had apparently wanted all along… or had they? I'm still not sure…"

"You were only put on trial to avoid a war with the Batarians." Hannah told him miserably.

Shepard grinned, his voice cheerful. "Well you certainly avoided _that_, didn't you?" He gave his mother a thumbs up. "Good job! Nice work! A round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, for the Systems Alliance completely, utterly, and spectacularly _missing the point_! …As usual."

"A war with the Batarians would have weakened us." Hannah said. "It would have made us easier targets for the Reapers."

"Right." John laughed. "Because sitting with our thumbs up our collective asses was doing wonders for _that_. Any war would have set the rest of the galaxy on edge. The Turian fleets would have been more vigilante. The STG would have been in full swing. The Asari would have been arming their commandos. The Galaxy would have been nervous, jumpy, and ready to fight when the Reapers came! "

"John, what would an extra six months have done?" Hannah tried to reason with him. "It takes eight to ten just to build new warships. We hadn't even recovered what we'd lost from Saren's attack on the citadel."

"Sovereign's attack." Shepard corrected.

"The crucible took four months." Miranda replied, coming to Shepard's aid. "And you were working with far less resources than you had before the war started."

John nodded. "How hard was the Alliance trawling the Mars archives for Reaper references _before_ the war started? Imagine if you'd devoted all resources and found it four months earlier. The Reapers would never have known what hit them!"

"Look, the other races have been studying the beacons for far longer than us." Hannah replied. "The Turians, the Asari-"

"The Asari!" John snarled. "Don't you dare talk to me about Prothean Beacons and the _Asari_!"

Hannah sat backwards, surprised by the sudden rush of anger.

John shook his head. "I spent most of my life thinking they were the regal, dignified ones. The smart ones. The diplomatic ones! Tell me something, how long have they been a part of galactic civilization?" John's questing gaze oscillated between Miranda and Hannah. He answered his own question. "Since it existed, right? How long were they allied with the Salarians? With the Turians? How many _centuries_ had those three races been allies? Ten? Twenty? How many times did the Turians pull their pretty blue asses out of the fire? The Rachni wars? The Krogan Rebellions? Yet the moment the boot is on the other foot, the moment the Turian homeworld is _burning_, the moment the innocent among them; the women and children are screaming and suffering and dying in pain… what do the Asari do? _Nothing!_"

He sat back, glowering at the wall. He was quieter now. But no less angry. "Goddamned nothing! Not a ship. No supplies. They didn't even send a representative to the war summit. Just because the Krogan were at the table too. Think about that! _The Krogan_ were at the table, but the Asari weren't! You'd think that negotiating with Krogan would be something worth suffering through for an ally like the Turians had been; I've been through worse for _mine_. You can bet the Illusive Man would have put up with it gladly."

He chuckled. "The blue bitches were just dignified enough to let the Turians put their wounded and their refugees on the giant reaper trap instead of oh… I don't know… their homeworld? Which was safe at that point in time, by the way. You'd think they'd at least be willing to do _that_…

"When we finally landed on Thessia, I was happy. I was glad to see the Reapers! I was happy to see their world burning! They'd finally gotten what they'd been asking for the _entire fucking war!_ And yes, I knew how many innocent civilians were dying! And no, I didn't care! I still don't. I was glad to see it. Someone somewhere was getting punished for their fucking arrogance! I'd seen too much at that point. Or thought I had…" He laughed again. "You want to know about the Asari? I found the Prothean beacon they'd kept hidden from all the other races."

"The _what_?" Hannah stared.

"Oh, you didn't hear about this one?" John grinned. "It's going to be all over the news! Apparently the Asari aren't as smart as we thought. They'd been using Prothean technology to give themselves an edge over the other races. No wonder they always seem to be at the top of every goddamned ladder." He shook his head in disbelief. "And information on the Reapers had been stored in that beacon. It was a warning beacon, same as on Eden prime. They'd ignored it. Bypassed it somehow to get at the 'juicy' bits. The ones that would give them the short-term gains! And when they finally needed it? When they finally realized it held the secret to winning this war? Were they willing to volunteer their own commandoes? An army? The Destiny Ascension? No." He giggled sourly. "They sent Commander Shepard: Our civilization's Dancing Monkey! And Cerberus was there too, doing whatever it took to get the job done. Not the way we wanted to do it, but…"

Miranda glanced at Hannah. She was pleased to see that the woman was looking outraged. Absolutely furious with the Asari. Nearly as angry as John was.

"The real kicker was Liara." John finished, shaking his head. "I swear if I didn't know her so well, I would've… I don't know. But we landed down on Thessia and she was bawling her eyes out. Moaning about her homeworld as if it was the only thing in the galaxy worth protecting! She was fighting alongside Garrus and I. A Turian and a Human. We'd both watched the same thing happen to our homeworlds, and you didn't see us crying our eyes out!"

"John!" Miranda interjected, genuinely shocked.

"Yeah I know. I'm being unfair." John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. Liara deserves better."

"Yes she does." Miranda agreed vehemently. "Much better than that. _Especially from you_!"

"I'm sorry." John said again. He shook his head. "Liara's done more for this war than any other member of her species. But that doesn't mean that this war wasn't ridiculous. It's nice to know who has your back when the chips are down. Apparently no one had anybody else's." He sighed and sat back. "You know what the easiest race to get on board was? The Batarians! Of all people! Their commander was pointing a gun at my head. And I told him 'if you want what's left of your race to survive, you'll help me.' And he did. He sent us everything he had left. Committed all of his forces immediately. No questions asked. They arrived at Hackett's command two hours later. All of them. Every single goddamned fighter they had, despite Bahak.

"And how did our closest ally end up being the Turians? How did the most honest, reliable, and honorable race in the galaxy end up being the Krogan? How did the smartest race in the galaxy _not _recognize the size of the threat, do the least to help?"

He growled, staring into space. "The _Salarians_. Fuck them too!" He pushed himself off of Jack's bed and began to pace furiously around the dark, empty space. "They were so obsessed with the Krogan that they ignored the Reapers! Ignored them! The only way to win was for every race to give us their best! The Salarians withheld support just because I wanted the Krogan at the fight! They withheld their best scientists from the crucible!" He turned to his mother angrily and began counting on his fingers. "They didn't give us their scientists! They didn't give us their ships! They didn't give us a _goddamned thing_! The only help this galaxy got from the Salarians was a few token members of the goddamned STG. Kirrahe owed me a personal favor. All because I refused to double-cross the Krogan. Because I refused to condemn the galaxy to death on the whim of a Dalatrass!"

He turned to Miranda, his voice full of undirected anger, and self-reproach. "And I nearly did it, Miri! I was _this close_ to shooting Mordin in the back!" He pinched his finger and thumb together. "_This close_! Mordin Solus! I didn't know what to think or do! Do you have any idea what it's like, not being able to believe in anything anymore?" his voice rose to a crescendo and he collapsed on the foot of the bed, his head in his hands. "I nearly shot Mordin!"

"But you didn't, John." Miranda said gently. "You let him go." She rose from her own seat and sat down next to him. The drew each other close, eyes shut, locked in a quiet, comforting embrace. A subtle blue glow engulfed Miranda as she relaxed, starting in her hands and slowly working its way over both of them. It was a soft glow, accompanied by a comforting hum and the slight tingle which was always present around active biotics. She felt his tightened muscles slowly loosen as the mass effect fields did their work.

He let out a long breath and pulled her in slightly closer. Miranda smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. Hannah Shepard cleared her throat uncomfortably, ending the moment. Miranda's eyes snapped open, stung with embarrassment. John was much calmer, and he kept his arms around her as he matched his mother's gaze, daring her to comment. Daring her to frown, or shake her head. Daring her to disapprove.

"I've read the mission reports." Hannah said. "Steven forwarded most information about you. Anything he could spare. Parts had been redacted. Classified. But I know what you did during this war, John. I know how hard you fought."

"How hard I fought?" John scowled. "I didn't spend this war fighting the Reapers. I spent it arguing with my own side. Lies. Double-crosses. Xenophobia. Political pandering… Idiots. All of them. And Hackett wants me to head a new council? Why? What am I supposed to do?" he let out a quick burst of sardonic laughter. "Represent humanity? Act as a referee? A negotiator? Or am I just supposed to put the Alliance on top again? Flip the scales so humanity is at the head of the pack? I'm sure the Illusive Man would've liked that. And why should I give a shit about the Alliance? They've done nothing but use me and hang me out to dry. Apparently even after all of this, the only person I can trust not to sell me out is my own damned mother!"

Hannah's eyes flickered to Miranda's pocket, then quickly up to John's face. Miranda sent a quiet prayer of thanks that Shepard hadn't seemed to notice.

Or had he? Her eyes narrowed slightly as she examined his bitter features; he'd always had a knack for spotting things his opponents wanted him to miss, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut, and his face blank.

Shepard said, "I don't want to do this. I don't want to be a part of it anymore. I'm tired of it. I've had enough."

"John, if you don't help, the situation is going to get much worse." Hannah told him. "Not just for humanity, but for every species. We need an alliance, and whether you like it or not, you're a symbol."

"This Alliance can't depend on me alone!" John responded angrily. "If it does, then all it means is that trillions died in this war and no one learned a damned thing! I can't keep fighting for this galaxy if no one else can be bothered to try."

"Steven Hackett is trying."

"Steven Hackett is fighting for humanity." John replied evenly. "Just like Wrex is fighting for the Krogan, and Primarch Victus is fighting for the Turians. Everyone's out for themselves. Hackett wants me to stand up for humanity. But even if I still _wanted _tobother – which I don't, I can't keep the peace in this galaxy while looking out for Earth. I can't form any lasting alliance between the species while looking out for my own. There's a conflict of interests there."

"Well why did you come this far, then?" Hannah demanded. "You nearly got killed down in London! Why did you bother with any of it?"

John pointed furiously at Miranda. "Because for just _one more day_, I wanted to wake up with that woman lying beside me! I didn't fight this war for humanity, or the Krogan, or the galaxy. I fought it for _me_, just like everybody else. And maybe that's the _fucking punchline_. "

"You mean the Reapers _weren't_?" Miranda asked quietly, slipping her hand into his. He squeezed it tightly, and she responded in kind. Shepard smiled a humorless smile.

"You know," he said as his mother slowly deflated, sinking back onto her crate. "I should've smartened up from the beginning. I had always thought we could be something more. Something greater. All we had to do was put aside our differences long enough to cooperate…" he shook his head. "I don't believe that anymore. Not after all I've seen. I know what the Galaxy thinks I am, and I put up that front. I pretended to be that symbol long enough to win the war. But I am not that person anymore."

All three of them fell into a long thoughtful silence. Hannah's face displayed a strange combination of sour depression and intimate understanding. John's gaze had settled on the floor. His face was blank, but his grip on Miranda's hand was as firm as ever.

Hannah chuckled, though Miranda could hear tears lingering on the edge of the otherwise happy sound. The Admiral asked, "How is it that I know my son better than I ever have before, but_ still_ feel like I've lost him." Her smiled faded. "John, listen to me."

Her son's sharp gaze snapped to her face.

Hannah leaned forward. "We still need that symbol. Miranda's here, and if I'm guessing right, you're waking up with her every morning. You have what you want, but the Galaxy needs a little more than that. I'm not going to ask you to stand up for the Alliance. I understand why you can't. I know the damage we've done. But if this alliance crumbles, the Galaxy will be thrust into yet another war. Are you sure both you and Miranda will survive it?"

John's brow furrowed. He glanced at Miranda and back at his mother.

"I know I haven't always been a big part of your life, John." Hannah told him. "It's something I've regretted, and I still care. Steven Hackett doesn't trust her. And if you give up now, he's going to drag both of you in. I don't know what he'll do with you, but I can guarantee you'll never wake up next to her again. So I'll make you a deal: If I keep Steven Hackett and the Alliance from dragging both of you into court, can you hold out just a little longer? Keep this Alliance together?"

"And I can trust _you_?"

Hannah shot a questioning glance at his executive officer. The admiral wanted to know that Miranda would hold her silence. That the device hidden in her pocket would remain hidden. Miranda gave her the tiniest hint of a nod.

"You can trust me." Hannah affirmed.

* * *

John, Miranda and Admiral Shepard were standing inside the Normandy's airlock. The Admiral's disgruntled entourage had already been sent back to the Orizaba. John was standing slightly behind Miranda, his arms crossed cautiously.

"Goodbye, John. We'll talk again." Hannah said.

He nodded. "We'll sort this out. After the Council meetings. It was good to see you, Mom."

"And you." The Admiral said. "Your father would have been proud of you, John. I know I am."

"Thanks."

They waited in awkward silence.

Hannah sighed. "If that's all, I'd like to speak to Miranda now."

The man nodded and left without another word. The goodbye was brief, cautious, but not particularly hostile. Given the heat of their previous argument, it had been about as much as Miranda had hoped for. She had no doubt they'd patch things up, but all three of them understood that it was time to let things cool for a little while.

Hannah was examining her, bemused. "You know, a year ago, if anyone had said that my son was involved with a Cerberus Operative…"

"You'd have had the same blind, knee-jerk reaction that every Alliance officer had when they encountered _anything_ to do with Cerberus." Miranda finished.

"I did have that reaction." Hannah admitted. "And I want to apologize for that. I've treated you unfairly, Miranda. I hope you can forgive me for that." She glanced down the hallway to the CIC, and John's stoic profile. "Seeing as things are the way they are, I can't think of a better match for him."

Miranda extended a cautious hand. Hannah ignored it, and to Miranda's complete surprise, embraced her instead. Miranda stood for a moment, stunned. Unsure how to react. She had to stop herself from throwing the Admiral to the floor in self-defense. Eventually she raised her arms and patted the Admiral awkwardly on the shoulder.

The older woman pulled away, leaving Miranda feeling stunned and exposed, like a raw nerve. Hannah smiled at her. "My son loves you. You're important to him, and that means that at the very least, I owed you the benefit of the doubt, and I didn't follow through on that. But I'd like the two of us to get along. Can you give me a second chance?"

"Of course." Miranda managed, still trying to overcome the shock.

Hannah's smile grew. "I know you've had a hard life, and that's an understatement. But as long as you're there for John the way you were today..." she shrugged. "I just want you to know that you're a part of this family, and… and I'm glad of it. I'm going to do my best to make this work."

Miranda kept her mouth shut, finding herself at a loss for words. It was all she could do to keep her composure. She was having enough trouble trying to hold back the sudden emotional flood which threatened to overwhelm her. The Admiral stood back and shook Miranda's hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Specialist Lawson."

Miranda took it gratefully, "And you, Admiral Shepard."

* * *

Miranda stared into the fish tank, running the day's events through her mind. Hannah Shepard's farewell had left her distraught. It was the same situation she had been in when John had first began to show some affection. Hostility was a part of life. But she still felt lost in the world of friendly human relationships. Family relationships. John loved her unconditionally, and Oriana was patient and friendly, but… an inlaw? And a friendly one? How the hell…? How did one deal with that? What were the boundaries? What were the rules? There was nothing Miranda hated more than going into an assignment without sufficient intel. She almost wished the Admiral was still hostile. Things had been clear then. How was it that things were _easier _when they were difficult?

Hannah's promise replayed itself in Miranda's mind, as it had done for the thousandth time. _I'm going to do my best to make this work._

It left Miranda at a loss. She frowned slightly, chewing her lip. To her left, she heard the cabin door slide open. A few seconds later, John's arms slid around her waist and he pulled gently backwards, pressing their bodies together. He reached up, brushed her hair away, and trailed a line of soft kisses up her neck, ending at the sensitive area where her jawline met her ear. The action made her smile and lean back into him; he still remembered.

"I would have been in a lot of trouble if you hadn't been here, Miri." He whispered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He continued his ambrosial assault, and she felt a rare yet familiar haze begin to set in. She pulled away reluctantly. "No extraneous physical activity, John. Doctor's orders."

"Oh?" He asked, his voice coy, "Which doctor?"

"Chakwas."

He pulled her back, and she put up minimal resistance.

"I think I want a second opinion." he said, resuming his ministrations.

Sorely tempted, she allowed his hands to explore a little. One of them hit a particularly sensitive area, slipping under her outer layer of clothing. She arched her back slightly, fighting the twin desires to pull away and push in further. Contrary to what was probably the prevailing opinion onboard the Normandy, she and John had not slept together since her arrival, and she had to admit, she missed _this_.

"Stop it.…Need to…. Have work…." She gave up and moaned, leaned into him and letting the familiar warm haze overtake her. She felt his hand sliding carefully down her thigh, towards the pocket, and the broken transmitter. Miranda intercepted it, lacing her fingers between his own and bringing his arms around her waist in a comforting embrace. He paused in his assault and simply held her for a calm moment.

"Got a message from Hackett." He said quietly. "The new councilors are arriving tomorrow."

"How was he?"

"A little angrier than usual." John said.

Miranda nodded in satisfaction. She asked, "Will you be alright?"

"You mean, will I be able to hold my tongue?"

She nodded.

"I'll make do." He said, after a slight pause. He let her go and turned her around so that her back was to the fish tank. John held her at arm's length so that he could look into her eyes. "James told me what you said to him about trust."

"He did?" she asked blankly.

John nodded. "He also handed me a bag of disabled spy transmitters he'd confiscated from my mother's boarding party."

"Good." Miranda smiled, pleased. "I hope he got them all."

John's gaze lingered on her pocket. He said, "Something tells me he missed one."

"I'll have Liara scan the CIC." Miranda told him without missing a beat. "She knows what to look for."

He met her eyes and chewed his lip thoughtfully, a slight frown making his brow crease. Miranda found herself holding her breath, but she gazed back steadily, using the same blank poker-face she'd worn for years during every clandestine operation she'd ever been involved in.

"…Do it." He said at last. "I want the Normandy clean by tomorrow morning." He turned and walked down the steps, moving towards his dresser. "I've got to get some sleep."

Perhaps it was a little reckless, but his earlier treatment had left her with a few nagging little cravings that wouldn't go away.

"That's one option." She said, following him down the steps. John turned back in time to see that seductive smirk which had never failed her yet. "But what about that second opinion?"

* * *

**This one took a little while to write. I do realize there's a lot of contradictions and unfairness in Shepard's viewpoint, but it's intended, and not all that unrealistic, given what the character went through. **

**Anyway I'm glad this section is over. I loved writing it, but it's time to move on…**


	24. Interlude

Interlude/Preparations

John Shepard woke up with Miranda Lawson lying beside him. It was a damned wonderful thing to experience. Moving very carefully so as to disturb her as little as possible, he rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. A subtle change in the woman's breathing told him that his efforts were for naught; he had woken her up. He pulled the sheets a little higher and shuffled closer until his chest was against her back. She let out a satisfied hum and adjusted the pillow slightly.

"Morning." He whispered quietly, his mouth just behind her ear. He could feel her wonderfully soft hair against his cheek.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

Shepard raised his head to look at the alarm clock. "Oh-seven hundred."

"When are the delegates arriving?"

"Ten."

"We'd better get ready." She said, her voice a little stronger.

He kissed her on the back of the neck. "We have three whole hours…"

She laughed. "Get up, John."

John pursed his lips in thought, and then he grinned. "Umm…No."

"VI Lights." Miranda called out. The darkened cabin was immediately bathed in a piercing glow as the lamps all came on at once. Shepard let out a sharp hiss and shut his eyes tightly, blinded by the sudden contrast. He rolled onto his back and sat up, grinding his palms into his eyes, trying to rid himself of the horrible purple spots.

"That was low." He reprimanded.

Miranda, who had been kept her own eyes tightly shut to preserve her night vision, smiled. "Shave, shower, and get down to the CIC."

John reluctantly rose reluctantly and moved off for the stairs, retrieving several articles of his clothing from the floor as he went.

* * *

His first stop was not at the CIC, but instead he went down to the mess to get a small amount of breakfast. The room was mercifully empty. Not that he was upset or angry in any way. Quite the opposite. But he always preferred calm and contemplative silence après l'amour. The rowdy teasing and laughter of a regular crew breakfast was disrespectful somehow. He liked having a clear mind, and how the small things always seemed the most important. Things like breakfast, for instance.

He grabbed a loaf of bread from the narrow space which passed for a pantry. More food was stored in the cargo bay and other areas of the ship. The bread was in a white package with simple black lettering.. It was no larger than a deck of cards. All rations sent out into space were as condensed as possible to save room, and every time he saw one of the tiny loaves, it brought him right back to his training on Titan. As a recruit, he'd made the mistake of eating a dehydrated loaf of bread. Another recruit had dared him. He'd been laid up in the infirmary for the rest of the day. The thing had expanded in his stomach, and he'd missed an entire day of training. Gunny Ellison had not been pleased. Shepard set the small package down beside the stove and opened up the rehydrator to find that someone had already expanded a loaf. Feeling slightly annoyed, he put the small package back in the pantry and cut off a few slices off the available loaf, setting them up in the toaster.

While his bread was being toasted, he set about making an omelette. Real eggs were far too delicate and inefficient to fit onto a starship, but they were also far too important a staple of human cooking to leave behind. The resulting solution was a large plastic barrel with a spigot at the bottom. The refrigerated container held a substitute which kept much better and, when cooked, tasted _almost _but not quite the same as egg whites. At least it was twice as healthy, containing a very carefully arranged cocktail of vitamins and minerals.

He pressed on the spigot and poured a rather generous helping into his frying pan, setting it down on the burner. He'd read somewhere that the trick to cooking eggs was low heat and careful observation, but it seemed no matter how hard he tried he was always destined to end up with a burnt, crunchy, scrambled mess. Shepard decided to blame the fact that it was egg _substitute_, and therefore inferior in every way and more difficult to cook.

Oh, how he missed Rupert Gardner. The man had always managed to pull a miracle out of any navy ration meal. Or perhaps Cerberus rations were just better quality, John didn't know, and made a mental note to ask Miranda. He briefly considered cooking her a similar meal, but examined the morass of charred goop on his plate and thought better of it. How could it be that half the egg was burnt, when the other was hardly cooked at all? That defied logic! At least his toast would- Nope! That was burnt too. Damn it.

He arranged his tray regardless, poured himself a glass of water, and sat down at the table, tucking into his meal.

A few minutes later he was joined by Liara, who was grasping her cup of coffee like the elixir of life. He felt a surge of guilt over yesterday's admission. The Asari looked exhausted, with dark purple rings under her eyes where there would normally be flawless blue skin.

She gestured at the seat opposite him. "Good morning Shepard. Mind if I sit down?"

Despite his desire for solitude, there were a few people he would welcome at any time. Liara was one of them. Tali, as well. Garrus –he winced. Garrus had been. John smiled at her. "Sure. I could use the company."

The Asari smiled back and took a seat. "I was working late last night. Making sure they didn't manage to plant any bugs."

John felt a second, stronger sting of guilt. He'd had a late night as well. Liara knew where he and Miranda had been. There was no way she didn't. But if she felt at all angered by it, she didn't show it. She continued, apparently oblivious. "I heard a little of Miranda's conversation with your mother. And your argument in the medical bay. I take it things were resolved…?"

"Miranda talked her down. Told her the story." John smiled faintly into his glass. "I knew I'd changed, but until I saw her, I hadn't realized just how much."

"No one could ever be expected to go through this war without losing something." Liara observed. "Many lost their lives. I suppose you and I should count ourselves lucky. All we lost was innocence."

"Thank you." Shepard said, after a few peaceful moments had passed.

Liara nodded lightly. "You're welcome, Shepard."

"You've been a good friend during this war, and I've… I feel like I've taken you for granted."

Liara's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Is there something you want to say, Shepard?"

"I just said a few things about what happened on Thessia." John admitted. "Some I meant, but others I wish I could take back. I was angry at you for being upset about it. For being able to feel anything except… satisfaction." He stared blankly into space. "I was selfish for so much of that war… I forgot how to empathize. How to think and feel for the people I was supposed to be protecting. It all came down to math. I saw the Reapers land on that planet. _You_ were thinking of all the civilians screaming and suffering and dying. I was just imagining the councilor's face when she heard the news." For a moment, he wore a malicious grin. "I hope she thought of me. You're a better person than I am, Liara. I wanted you to know that."

She flashed him a troubled smile.

"And in three hours I'm going to be playing referee for the new council." He rubbed his forehead. "How am I supposed to do this? How the hell am I supposed to convince them to work together to rebuild when even _I _don't think we can. Cooperation and mutual respect. Basic decency. Things like honor… they don't exist in this galaxy. There's no carrot I can give these people, Liara."

"Well…" Liara said quietly. "Why don't you just use a stick?"

She rose quietly and walked back to her office, leaving John in deep thought.

* * *

Miranda sat at her desk in John's cabin. Hers now, too, though she hadn't quite gotten used to that yet. She wasn't particularly interested in taking part in the negotiations going on in the lower levels. Her mind was on something entirely different. The combination of Hannah Shepard's visit, the resulting reexamination of Miranda's relationship with John, and Tali's 'gift' -if it could be called such- had left her with only one topic on her mind: Family. Hannah Shepard had said she was going to do her best to accept Miranda as a daughter in law, if the term could be applied to the peculiar relationship they shared. Miranda wanted to do her part to return the favor.

She picked up her tablet from the desk and entered both eleven digit passcodes, opening up a dialogue. She hated having to do this, and even half a year ago, she never would have dreamed of doing it, but the extranet was relatively unreliable and as much as it hurt to admit it to herself, Oriana actually had more experience with this sort of thing than she did.

The tablet beeped almost immediately, signifying that Oriana was online. Miranda felt a stab of sisterly affection; Oriana was always online, no matter the time of day. She hoped their conversations would never get her younger sister in trouble, and made a note to familiarize herself with Ori's schedule to prevent it from ever happening.

OR: Hey Miri! What's up?

ML: I need some advice.

She waited a few moments, smiling slightly whilst trying to Imagine Oriana's incredulous face. A message popped up.

OR: Wut?

ML: I need some advice.

OR: …

OR: R u drunk?

ML: Stop it, please.

OR: This is Miranda, rihgt? Not Shepard?

ML: Yes.

OR: R u sure?

ML: Stop it, Oriana!

OR: What's our password?

ML: Ori!

OR: Miranda doesn't ask for advice. I just want to be sure it's you.

ML: Faculae. Last month it was Iota Horologii. It's Me, Ori.

OR: Ur a super-spy, ass-kicking demi-goddess. What could u possibly want advice about?

ML: I need to know how to deal with in-laws.

There was another uncomfortably long pause.

OR: AWWWWWWW! That is so cute! XD

Miranda felt her cheeks turn bright red with embarrassment, despite the fact that her little sister was across the galaxy, and couldn't possibly see her face.

ML: Stop it, Ori!

OR: C'mon, u no I'm never going to let this go!

Miranda waited a few seconds. When she judged that enough time had passed, she typed in her next message.

ML: Goodbye Ori.

Her sister's badly-written response came back almost immediately.

OR: No ome back it dind't mean it!

ML: Well?

OR: I dunno. Danner's parents were nice. Just be polite I guess.

ML: That's it?

OR: What r u so afraid of?

ML: I don't know…

OR: was she angry because of u and Cerberus?

ML: She was. But isn't anymore. I think we patched things up.

OR: well that's good, right?

ML: sure. But what now? How do I keep us on good terms?

OR: Depends on what she's expectign. how serious are u and Shep? I mean… is she expecting grandkids or something?

Miranda froze, staring down at the message. She could hear the normally comforting tick of John's alarm clock. It had turned into a grating noise; fingernails on a chalkboard.

OR: Miri?

Miranda licked her lips nervously, her fingers hovering over the keys.

OR: What did I say?

ML: Nothing.

OR: Miri!

ML: Never mind, Ori.

OR: Miri, tell me! I'm ur sister!

ML: Mind your own buisness!

OR: UR SUCH A HYPOCRITE!

Miranda hesitated. She nearly close the conversation. But once again, Tali's hated lesson came to the forefront. After a very long pause, she typed the true reason for her distress into the text box. Her fingers hovered over the 'send' button, but for some reason, they just wouldn't respond to her touch.

OR: I'm sorry, Miranda. I didn't want to make you upset. I'm sorry.

Driven by a sudden burst of guilt, Miranda's fingers mashed down on the button. Her message popped up on the screen.

ML: Benign neoplasm.

She bit her lip, staring regretfully at the message. She wished with all her heart she hadn't sent it, but it was out now, for better or worse. She recalled her advice to Vega: Nothing is private. Her breath began to come in short bursts, and no matter how many she took , there never seemed to be quite enough air. She felt both hot and cold at the same time, and the world seemed to crystalize. A panic attack… which was ridiculous! She hadn't felt like this during any of the most dangerous parts of the collector mission. Not even while fighting the larval Reaper.

_Father's dead, s_he reminded herself, _Cerberus is gone. No one is out to get you anymore. All of your enemies are dead._ At least, all the ones which would care about her infertility were dead. She remember Tali's advice, and Chakwas' as well: No man is an island, entire of itself. She found herself clinging to that phrase as if her life depended on it.

There was another long pause, this time on Oriana's end, probably for the young woman to look up the term. Then…

OR: Oh god, Miri…

Miranda didn't bother to reply. She found herself dreading her sister's next message. The last thing she wanted was to be pitied.

OR: But u can fix it, right?

ML: What?

OR: U could fix it if u wanted to

ML: I don't know.

OR: well cmon. u brought Shep back to life! Surely to god…

ML: I don't know. The doctors said it was incurable.

OR: the helldo they know, huh?

ML: They were experts in their field.

OR: and ur Miranda Lawson!

ML: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

OR: I'm here 4 u, sis. so does this mean I have it too? I mean, we're clones, right?

ML: No, you're healthy. I made sure of that.

OR: does Shep no?

ML: He knows.

OR: And?

Miranda felt a hint of pride, cutting through the panic and fear.

ML: We're together regardless.

OR: That's great! Honest it is. But I still think yu could fix it.

ML: It's not that simple!

OR: y not? Do u want to?

ML: Of course I do. But tampering might make things worse.

OR: Or it colud make things beter.

ML: Why is your spelling so bad today?

OR: Tis 4 in the morning on Rannoch, sis. Really tired.

ML: I'm sorry for waking you.

OR: It's not a problem. I wasn't sleeping anyway.

ML: Why not? What's wrong?

OR: Never mind me! Did you even try to fix it before?

ML: No. What's keeping you up?

OR: was it because you honestly believed you couldn't, or because you thought you had better things to do with your time?

Miranda sighed. Oriana was clearly not willing to share that particular problem yet, probably out of respect for Miranda's issue. But it bothered her nonetheless.

ML: I was with Cerberus. That's no life for a child. Besides, it's more than that. Research takes time and money, Oriana.

OR: you didn't answer my question, Miri.

ML: Both. But it's academic. The issue of kids is between John and I. It's not Hannah Shepard's business, and it's likely not going to happen for a long while, if it ever happens at all.

OR: See! Right there! Hope!

ML: What?

OR: You didn't say it couldn't happen. If you want it to, then just go fix it. At least make an attempt. Test the waters. What harm could a little research do?

ML: and what if I don't want children?

OR: Just cos u fix it doesn't mean you HAVE To have kids, Miri. But why not leaveall options open? You don't have to fix it if you don't want to, but resarch wouldn't hurt, right?

Miranda stared down at the message, a simple fact breaking through the haze; Oriana did have a point.

* * *

**Sooo, I've been running silent for a month, and this chapter is mostly me fumbling to get back on the horse. I'm not entirely happy with everything in this chapter, but if I didn't get another one up soon, I would have lost it all anyway, and I'd have to leave this fic unfinished. Not something I want to do. **

**There's a reason for all of the delays: **

**I got a job. Finally. **

**Still plan to write on the weekends, but I'm spending 8 hours a day doing heavy physical activity and I'm pretty much exhausted when I get home. This basically cuts writing time down to weekends, and means I'll be putting out chapters at a far slower rate. I still intend to keep writing though. **

**I've also been updating the Fallout fics a little. I let those sit for far too long.**


	25. The Council: Part 1

The Council: Arrivals

_This _time, Shepard was able to arrange for a proper greeting party. Formally dressed, clean shaven, and respectfully armed to the teeth. Shepard himself was still wearing his N7 jacket. He was feeling particularly cheerful this morning, and was having trouble keeping the smile off of his face.

The airlock slid open revealing Admiral Steven Hackett, flanked by four swarthy alliance security personnel.

"Welcome aboard, sir." John gave the admiral a pleasant smile, which Hackett returned, much to his surprise. "If you could make your way to the briefing room… we're just waiting on the other councilors." He nodded at Hackett's stoic sentries. "I'm afraid your guard is not allowed aboard. No guns. No escort. No fighting."

"This is an Alliance warship!"

"Not today, sir. Today this is a diplomatic vessel. Neutral territory under the command of no species. It will stand as such until the Citadel is once again functional. Till then…" he nodded at Hackett's guards. "They stay off my ship. Same rules for every species' representative."

Hackett took a shocked step backwards, but recovered quickly. "It is standard Alliance operating procedure for an Admiral to have an armed escort, Captain."

"Spectre." Shepard corrected. "And seeing as apparently it's also standard Alliance operating procedure to ignore galactic threats until Earth is under attack, I'd say it's time for a reexamination. Wouldn't you, sir? The public is probably going to be on my side there."

Hackett stared, growing more red-faced by the second.

"Besides, I've never been one to stand on ceremony. So…" Shepard stepped aside. Behind him, he heard the heavy clunk of James hefting his claymore. "Is humanity in, or out. Choose now sir, you're holding up the line and there's a lot to do today."

The older officer grimaced, but stepped aboard. John turned to the control panel and shut the airlock in the faces of the Admiral's glowering entourage. After a moment, the Normandy pulled away, heading for a moon-side rendezvous with the Krogan diplomatic shuttle. It was being shielded by a protective fleet of Turian fighters. The sight made Shepard smile; at least someone had gotten something right. Thank god for the Turian army's willingness to follow strange orders.

John gestured towards the CIC and they began to walk down the long hallway, with James and the Normandy escort keeping pace behind them.

"And where is Miss Lawson?" Hackett asked carefully. Shepard wondered whether or not his mother, Hannah, had filed her report yet. He wondered what it had contained, and how many of the surviving admirals had gone over it with a fine-toothed comb.

"Indisposed." He answered.

The Admiral looked Shepard up and down. "Why aren't you in uniform, Captain?"

"Spectre. And it'll be addressed in-session."

"Don't try my patience, Cap-"

"Spectre. And if this is going to have any chance of working, I need to distance myself from every faction. Including humanity. I need to be impartial. I'm not representing the Alliance, sir. You are. You're a politician now, Admiral." He patted Hackett on the shoulder. "But don't worry. Things could have been so much worse."

"How so?"

John grinned. "You could have been a lawyer." He turned to Vega. "James, get him down to the briefing room and stand guard. Have someone get the poor man a cup of coffee."

* * *

The shuttle door slid open, exposing the enormous red bulk of Urdnot Wrex. The Krogan grinned at Shepard and stepped off the shuttle, his enormous weight making the deck shudder.

"Helluva wait, Shepard." The Krogan said. Behind him, Primarch Victus stepped out of the shuttle, a pillar of calm. The Turian stepped forward and shook Shepard's hand. "Commander, it's good to see you again."

"It's captain, now. But I'd prefer if you just called me Shepard." John replied. "I need to appear impartial. The rank highlights my connections to earth. Not something I want."

Victus frowned thoughtfully. Most humans wouldn't have recognized the expression, but John had obtained plenty of experience talking to Turians, and he was able to read the surprise and subtle curiosity in the Primarch's face.

"I can't tell you what I have planned, Primarch." John told him. He examined both of them. Wrex was watching, equally as thoughtful. Shepard continued. "But it would help me no end if the two of you could present a united front."

"Shouldn't be too hard, eh?" Wrex chuckled and gave the Primarch a friendly slap on the back. "I faced down three charging banshees with this Turian. I suppose I can resist tearing his head off until this thing is done. But all bets are off if I get hungry."

Shepard grinned. Victus smiled too, but there was no humor in it. "I personally don't have a problem giving the Krogan a seat on this council, Shepard. But a lot of my people will."

John sighed, seeing the Primarch's unwavering doubt. "Primarch , the last time you didn't trust me, it cost you your son. What do you think it'll cost this time? I do have a plan. But you two need to stand together. Compromise with each other. Prove to the others that this can work."

"What others?"

"It's not just the Krogan." Shepard replied. "All major races have a seat now. Batarians, Quarians, Elcor and Hanar. Even the geth."

"The _geth_?"

"Oh, they're not the most surprising one." John promised. "Just you wait."

Victus gave Shepard the longest stare of his career, and that was saying something. At last, the Turian relented. "Alright, Shepard. We'll do this _your_ way."

"Thank you." John shook his hand again, and led them both across the docking bay towards the elevator. Victus walked beside him, while Urdnot Wrex trailed behind with his enormously heavy strides.

As they neared the elevator, Shepard turned back and addressed the Primarch. "I need to speak to Wrex alone for a few moments. Can you remember the way up to the briefing room?"

"I do." Victus confirmed suspiciously. "What's this about, Shepard?"

"The Salarians, and the genophage cure."

"What about it?" Wrex asked, equally as flummoxed. His eyes narrowed. "It _is _cured, right Shepard?"

"It is." Shepard turned back to Victus. "I'm just reminding him to behave himself. I don't want the Krogan to blow this chance."

Wrex grinned. "Damned right you don't, Shepard."

"We'd have to put down yet another rebellion, and I just can't be bothered, so please." He gestured towards the elevator. Primarch Victus gave them one last look, and proceeded inside, leaving the human and the Krogan standing silently in the cargo bay.

John turned to Wrex. "There's something I need to tell you."

"I got that."

"Dalatrass Linron contacted me before the Shroud run." John told him.

"I thought you were quieter than usual. What did she say?"

Shepard took a deep breath and braced himself for the worst. "She asked me to double-cross you and sabotage the Genophage."

To his utter amazement, the Krogan did not move an inch. He simply stood there, examining his former shipmate.

Hmm…" the warlord rumbled thoughtfully. "And was it sabotaged?"

"Eve's pregnant, right? No is a safe guess." John said, his thoughts turning momentarily to Miranda. She was only a few decks away, but he found himself missing her, just as he had during the Reaper war. After this last meeting, he would be with her, infertility or no. He hoped she understood that, and made up his mind to tell her again, just in case.

"And she'll be at this meeting?" the Krogan asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"She will." John confirmed. His eyes narrowed as he examined Wrex. The Krogan was drawing himself up. It was a familiar stance. One Shepard had seen many times before working with both Wrex and Grunt. It was usually followed by a war cry and the obliteration of anything unfortunate enough to get in the way.

"…Wrex?" Shepard asked carefully.

"I am going to tear her limb from limb from limb!"

"Wrex-" John began.

"I am going to tear that little pyjack into pieces!" the Krogan snarled furiously, punching his palm.

"You will do nothing!" Shepard replied forcefully.

"But she-"

"Calm down!" John snarled, standing nose to nose with the angry Krogan.

"Get out of my way, Shepard!" the Krogan snarled back.

"I want her family name to go down in history as the biggest fools of this entire war! If you kill her, you'll only prove her right. If you sit back and do nothing, she'll be disgraced."

"_Out of my way!_" Wrex roared. Teeth bared, the enormous Krogan gripped the fabric of Shepard's shirt and lifting him clean into the air.

His feet dangling six inches above the deck and rising, Shepard thought quickly. "What is the greatest insult a Krogan can give his enemy, Wrex?"

The chieftain froze, breathing hard. "To be ignored."

"Exactly."

"They insulted us! They tried to turn you, and you suggest_ I _do nothing?"

"And I ignored them." John replied evenly, gripping the Krogan's wrist. "They are my enemies as well. But diplomacy is a bloodless war, and the way to win is to disgrace your opponent. Not kill them." He shifted his grip slightly. "Do you want to know the best thing about diplomatic combat, Wrex?"

The gigantic alien lowered him down until they were once again nose to nose.

"Share." Wrex suggested.

"The victories last much longer, and your opponent is alive to suffer through them."

A few moments passed while the warlord mulled this over. At last, he asked: "And how close were you, Shepard? How close were you to turning on me?"

"How close were _you_ to shooting _me_ on Virmire?" Shepard replied, trying not to relive the moment when he'd pulled the pistol on Mordin. The look of utter disappointment in the Salarian scientist's eyes still twisted his gut in a knot. It had accompanied the realization that no one had all the answers.

The Krogan let go, and Shepard crashed to the deck.

"You have a quad, Shepard." He said quietly.

"This has to happen, Wrex." Shepard told him, getting slowly to his feet. "We can use this whole war to change things, but we ourselves have to change to do it."

The Krogan hummed thoughtfully. Then, in his baritone voice he said, "Alright. We'll do it your way. But if she steps out of line…"

"If she steps out of line, you'll sit back and let someone else handle it. The last thing this galaxy needs is a war with the Krogan."

"That's because you know we'll come out on top."

"It's because in the end I know I'd be the one they turn to in order to put you down." John corrected. "And I'm not sure I could do it. Not after all of this."

Wrex gave him another long stare. "You could, Shepard." He stalked past his former teammate towards the elevator. "Whether or not you _would _is a different issue."

* * *

John gave Dalatrass Linron's bodyguards a cursory examination, then shook his head. "No bodyguards. This is a galactic council meeting, Dalatrass. Not a street gang negotiation."

"The way you run things one can hardly tell the difference." Linron scoffed.

"You don't agree to my conditions, then the Salarians have no say in galactic politics." John told the Salarian Dalatrass evenly, his dislike evident. "Simple as that. I told the same thing to Urdnot Wrex, and Admiral Hackett. Same rules for every representative. No exceptions."

The Dalatrass' enormous eyes widened even further. "You gave the _Krogan _a seat?"

"And the Quarians and Geth." Shepard added cheerfully.

Linron looked horrified, as did both of her bodyguards. "This is a travesty! Mark my words, Shepard-"

"No!" John snarled back venomously, "You mark mine! The Krogan did more for this war, and more for this galaxy than the entire Salarian Union! You stood on the sidelines and actively sabotaged my efforts to unite the species. And if there's one race, one _person_ in this galaxy who is likely to draw the Reapers right back to our door, it's you, Dalatrass! You personally. You and your arrogant stupidity will bring ruin on us all." He took a step back.

The bodyguards hadn't moved a muscle, shocked immobile by the fact that anyone would dare speak to a Dalatrass in such a manner. It made Shepard smile; they weren't real bodyguards. Their presence was a show of strength. Unfortunately, they were trying to intimidate Commander Shepard.

He continued. "You want to find out why? Then step off this shuttle. Personally I'd like to box you up and return you home, but I have to give you the _choice_. Believe me, neither of us are happy with this, but I have to be fair."

"So _you're_ our impartial judge?" the Dalatrass laughed. "This is a… what is the human term? A kangaroo court."

"Exactly." John stepped to the side, giving the Dalatrass a clear path across the bay. He pointed to the elevator. "Now start jumping or go home."

"You can't just ignore centuries of traditi-" the Dalatrass' voice was muffled as Shepard shut her shuttle door.

"EDI, prepare the Dalatrass' shuttle for departure." He ordered. Shepard turned on his heel and marched towards the elevator, counting slowly. He'd gotten to six by the time the door opened again. He turned back to see the Dalatrass step out, mustering as much of her shattered dignity as she could. Her bodyguards stayed put, watching him with a mixture of distaste and respectful awe.

He'd probably made a mistake, he kne- No! He hadn't. That was the old Shepard thinking. That was the old politics, where kowtowing to blind arrogant politicians had nearly ended galactic civilization. He couldn't let himself think like that again. Otherwise the entire thing was going to fall apart. The Dalatrass was getting the treatment she deserved for being difficult when the Galaxy _really_ hadn't needed it. Nothing more and nothing less. Her station didn't matter. Her titles didn't matter. Her opinions had done nothing but hurt the galaxy and Shepard was going to give her no quarter.

That was the point. It wouldn't take politicians to keep the galaxy together. It would take _leaders_.

As he lead her into the elevator, he hoped he had found enough of them to keep the old guard down.

* * *

**I'm glad I inserted that interlude. It gives the story some breathing room. I also love writing Wrex. He's always struck me as far smarter than he lets on.**


	26. The Council: Part 2

The Council Part 2: A House of Cards

The first Post-Reaper council meeting started like a bad joke. A human, Turian, a Salarian, and a Krogan walk into a conference room… and find that one member of almost every other species was already sitting there, shocked into silence by the sheer number of councilors.

John had extended an invitation to every major species and faction including Aria, who was embroiled in her own battle with the Cerberus remnants on Omega. Many of the minor races had heard the word 'Council' and flat-out refused.

The Terminus systems had grown much larger in the weeks following the war, and though no one in the universe felt much like fighting again, John could sense a cold war on the horizon as the leadership of the core council races fought to regain their lost respect, and keep the galactic power they had possessed for thousands of years.

He knew that the Elcor, Hanar, Volus and Drell had quietly unified in the background, reshaping the galactic map, splitting the Attican Traverse and council space to form the Collective of Minor Races. Their representative –an older, rather dignified Volus diplomat- was sitting on several cushions, bringing his height level with everyone else's.

The Quarians and the Geth had unified as well, though they'd each sent a separate representative probably in the interests of buying their alliance an extra vote. John didn't mind at all; the Quarian representative was admiral Shala'raan vas Tonbay, a close friend of Tali's, which meant she was an ally, as was the Geth Platform.

Then there was the Asari councilor, Tevos… John had been furious, but not particularly surprised to find that she'd quietly survived the Reaper's reclamation of the citadel. She had kept her identity hidden from him as long as possible, only communicating through clerks and yeomen until the inevitable moment when her shuttle door opened. Even Liara, with all her resources, had missed it.

The two of them had shared no words at all, during the seconds following the revelation. Merely a cold, uncomfortable stare until Shepard had finally moved aside and allowed her to contaminate his deck with her filthy footsteps. He glared at her all the way into the conference room; at least Sparatus and Valern had possessed the dignity to fight and die with the civilians, refugees, and brave C-Sec officers they'd tricked into staying on the citadel.

The last race to join had been the Batarians. Despite his personal distaste, and the knowledge that the councilor would fight him every step of the way, John was glad to see Kah'hairal Balak there, and more than happy to let him. aboard. At least the Batarian wouldn't beat around the bush. His species had lost the most. Definitely more than earth, and if anyone deserved to have a say in the rebuilding process, it was them.

And that was it: Two Humans, a Turian, a Krogan, a Salarian, a Quarian, a Geth, a Volus, a Batarian, and Tevos. The ten representatives were huddled around the table, scrunched up a little too close together for anyone's comfort.

They all looked to Shepard., and he looked right back at each of them, from Hackett at his left, moving clockwise around the table all the way to Admiral Shala'raan on his right. He said, "Take a look. Get used to the faces at this table. Until one of you dies, this is the Council."

"It's a travesty!" Dalatrass Linron declared, glaring across the table at Urdnot Wrex, who began to chuckle. The Dalatrass continued. "The _Krogan _have a seat?"

John chose his words carefully, noting the Volus ambassador's thoughtful gaze. "Every faction who wanted to be a part of this has sent a representative."

"This is not how it is to be done!" Linron continued. "Geth? Volus?"

"The Collective of Minor Races." The Volus councilor corrected quietly. To Shepard's surprise, the others stayed quiet and let him speak. "If this war has taught us anything, it is that unless we work together, the stronger will continue to bully the weaker into submission. Our clan is not going to put up with it anymore. Our clans want a say, and thanks to Commander Shepard's cooperation, we have one."

"You should have four." John added, more to himself than anyone else. "At least. One for each race."

"One for each clan." The Volus corrected.

"I see the humans brought two ambassadors." Balak's voice echoed from the far end of the table. The Batarian leaned forward and glared at the two humans. "My species suffered more than any other. Why should you get two?"

John grinned. He'd been waiting for this particular line of questioning. "Admiral Hackett is representing the Alliance and humanity."

"And what about you?"

"Me?" Shepard leaned forward, prompting the others to do the same. Wrex and Victus were both watching him very carefully, as was the Asari ambassador. This was it. His plan. The Big Bluff. He'd spent every available waking moment wondering how he could possibly keep the galaxy in line. He knew that no carrot, no pleading, no reasonable talk would possibly keep them in line. Kowtowing to each individual race's needs would only split them apart. He needed to keep them together, and in line. And only one lie could do that.

John said, "I speak for the reapers."

Silence fell across the cramped chamber.

Victus leaned forward. "What?"

"I spoke to the Reapers. More than one of them." John explained. "The simple fact-"

"When?" Linron interrupted.

"Virmire." Wrex rumbled.

"Bahak, also." Hackett added supportively, seeing that the other councilors seemed to be listening to the Spectre. "My apologies, Balak, but it's all in the report he filed. Harbinger, was it, Captain?"

"Spectre." John corrected. "And yes, Harbinger is the leader, for lack of a better word." He wasn't about to tell them of the child, or the Reaper's true origins. He just had to hope the lie was good enough. "I am the only survivor of operation Hammer. Admiral Anderson and I fought our way to the Beam. Harbinger landed and wiped the rest of them out-" he winced, remembering Garrus and Ash. "But after I got back onto the citadel, it had a talk with me about the crucible. I finally got the chance to ask them why they do this. Why the cycle. Why all of the death and destruction. We talked, and came to an …agreement."

He rubbed his forehead. "They left because I begged for them to give us a second chance. I'm not at this meeting to speak for humanity, or play politician. I'm here to explain to all of you the terms for our survival. If we break these rules, they'll come back and finish the job." He met Tevos' eyes and glared at her. And if you think any of us could survive it, you're fooling yourself. You're only prolonging the inevitable. They'll hunt us down and kill us all. One by one. Planet by planet. Species by species until they've wiped the galaxy clean, and started this cycle anew."

"What do they want?" Raan asked. The Geth unit's 'eye' focused on him.

Shepard gave her a thoughtful frown. "If you want to understand what they want, you have to understand why they attack us in the first place."

"Do you know what a reaper is?" Shepard asked. "Each individual Reaper is a species. During my mission to take down the collectors, I discovered that they were building a human reaper. That's what they were taking the colonists for. Look in the Cerberus archives for the relevant information, and Reaper husk-"

"Captain, you don't have the authorization to share-"

"I don't care, admiral. Save it." John turned back to the waiting group. " There's a Reaper corpse at Cerberus headquarters. I'll be sending you all the coordinates later."

"Shepard!"

"It's only fair, Admiral." John said. "and it's part of the agreement I made with them. At least one of us has to honor it. All Reapers are equal. They may be a fleet of fleets, but they act with one voice and one will. What the hell do you think we look like to them? They took one look at us. The Quarian and Geth war. The treatment of the Krogan…"

He stared around the room at each of the silent representatives. "Reapers don't disagree or argue or fight or lie or cheat or swindle each other. We are chaotic, and they don't like chaos. Every cycle they see us rise and fight and squabble with each other. We continually disappoint them. We never learn. We never improve. We keep falling back into the same old traps, and they keep coming back to wipe us out and try again. The only reason we're all here now, the only reason they left, was because I swore we'd do better."

"And what? They just believed you?" Linron asked.

"I put up a damned good case!" John snapped. "Or perhaps you're forgetting who cured the Genophage, and who got the Quarians and the Geth together!" he gestured at Wrex and Victus. "I really thought we could do this, and of all the civilizations they've finished off, we're the ones who gave them the most resistance. We're the ones who got the farthest, did the most damage. And we did it by uniting as no Civilization had done before. So they gave us a second chance. One chance. The only question left is are you dumb enough to blow it?"

He stared around the table. Each representative kept silent. None of them met the others' eyes.

"Dalatrass?" he asked, glaring at the Salarian. "Anything you'd like to say? Skeletons in the closet. This is a chance for every species to start fresh."

She looked up at him, matching his glare with one of her own. "I have nothing to say. Nothing I'd regret."

"You sure?" Wrex rumbled, watching her carefully. "Nothing at all? A few backroom deals? Something about a Genophage sabotage?"

A shocked murmur passed through the council. Suddenly every fearful eye was fixed upon either Linron or the Krogan warlord, towering over them all.

The Salarian's jaw dropped, and she confronted the Spectre. "You _told it_?"

"Him." John murmured.

Wrex growled at her, a wholly unwelcome sound. Shepard patted him on the arm.

"Wrex…" John warned.

"I could squeeze, Shepard."

"I know."

"It wouldn't be too hard." The Krogan's voice was almost plaintive.

"Stay frosty." John suggested, feeling his own frustration welling up inside. He was fed up with both the Krogan and the Salarian. Why couldn't either of them see it? How petty it was to-

"I wonder which one of her eyeballs would pop first."

Shepard's fist slammed into the table. "WREX!"

"We have a confession to make." Another voice, female, filled the small chamber, calming the frayed nerves of every council member. John could only watch, slack-jawed as councilor Tevos, the Asari diplomat, rose from her seat to confront the council. She cleared her throat nervously and began to speak. "For centuries, our species has been keeping a secret from the rest of the galaxy. I feel it is only appropriate, considering the spirit of cooperation which Captain Shepard is trying to nurture, that we divulge this information."

"Spit it out." Wrex barked.

"We have a Prothean Beacon on Thessia." Tevos explained. "We've been using it in secret to give ourselves an edge over the other species."

"You kept it from _us_?" Victus reacted immediately, growing angrier by the second. "Why would you keep it from the _Turians_?"

"Or from the rest of us." Balak added. "Those are supposed to be free to any species!"

"Why aren't you angry?" Victus asked, confronting the Dalatrass.

Linron simply smiled. Tevos sighed.

"Oh… spirits…you knew all along, didn't you?" Victus demanded, glaring at the Dalatrass.

"Of course." The Salarian laughed. "We have the STG. Of course we knew. We kept their secret in exchange for limited access, and financial assistance with the Krogan uplifting."

"Wait…" Victus interrupted, hands clenched. "You _helped_ them do_ that_ too?"

Wrex sat back in his chair, staring at the Turian who had so recently been his ally. "Why? You got a problem with my species being uplifted?"

"You did mine a lot of damage." Victus replied. "I'm just offended that our closest allies would choose the Salarians over us. We're the ones who shed blood for your homeworlds! For your colonies! Time and time and time again!"

"Noone has shed more blood than the Krogan!" Wrex responded furiously. "and we've suffered the most for it! If anyone deserves to get a look at that beacon-"

"You brutes are going nowhere near it! I'll have it demolished first!" Linron cut him off, and then all semblance of structure collapsed, and the voices rose to a crescendo of mindless hate-filled exchanges and frustrated threats. The Salarian was arguing with the Krogan, and the Turian was arguing with the Asari. Hackett and the Batarian were both dragged in shortly afterwards and they were tearing at each other's throats. The Quarians and Geth and the Volus representative couldn't seem to get a word in edge-wise.

And John Shepard sat at the head of the table and did nothing but watch, and listen, and feel the rage build up inside until all he could see was red mist. Something in him snapped. Damn them! Damn them all, and their fucking politics! He could be up with Miranda right now! he could be doing something useful! Something meaningful!

"All of you just SHUT UP!" He roared, on his feet before he knew what was happening. "Shut UP! SHUT UP! _Just shut the fuck up!_"

Dead silence dropped over the new council.

"Captain Shepard-" Hackett barked angrily, before John cut him off.

"Spectre!" he snapped back with such venom that Hackett was struck dumb. Sure, what Shepard had told them about the Reapers was a lie, but his anger was real enough. Something in him snapped at that moment, and for a few seconds, he believed it. All of it. But a few seconds was all it took for his pent up rage to come pouring through. "Spectre! One of the few left! Someone who is supposed to care about the galaxy! About every species! They're not going to learn, sir! They're not going to listen! They're going to keep arguing and insulting and fighting like children until they bring the Reapers right back to our doorstep! All the same lies! All the same racism! All the same backroom deals and hidden facts!

"You can stay here and fight and argue all you want. You're welcome to each other. And when the Reapers come back, don't expect me to bail _any_ of you out _again_!" he paused for a moment, breathing heavily. When next he spoke, his voice was quieter, the red hot rage having turned into blank, soulless resignation.

"I already died for this galaxy once, and I am sick and tired of wading into other people's problems. I just told you exactly what the reapers told me and you still can't just _fucking listen_! You still can't _fucking learn_. I'm not going to take it anymore. You want to bring them back and keep fighting, that's up to you. But there's a woman upstairs I'd much rather be spending my last days with. So I'm out. deal with your own damned problems…" he laughed, and it was a forlorn and completely hopeless sound. "If you _can_."

His fist pounded the door controls, and he left the new council sitting in stunned silence.

* * *

**So it's been a Loooooooooong time since the last update. Skyrim swallowed me, I got a job, and my muse is solidly lost in Fallout territory. **

**I'm not honestly sure how impressive this chapter was to read. My first guess would be underwhelming, but the council meetings and rebuilding are a secondary plot. This isn't a story about rebuilding the galaxy. It's about Shepard and how he comes to terms with the end of the war, and his own feelings about the sheer amount of bullshit which was dumped on him before and during it. I do have a plan in regards to that, and this whole council meeting is just a set-up for the climax of the story. (coming next chapter, btw.)**

**Then probably a quick wrap-up. Then it's done and I can finally put Mass Effect down.**

…**for a while. Not sure what the next project would be. I think this story, especially the whole Hannah Shepard subplot, basically covers everything.**


	27. The Council: Part 3

The Council Part 3: Crossroads

What bothered James Vega the most wasn't the fact that John Shepard, for the first time ever, was using his punching bag, it was the manner of Shepard's punches. James Vega had seen angry men trying to unburden some of their rage on a handy bag. He'd been one himself on more than one occasion. Angry men tended to over-do it. They would punch too hard with reckless abandon and no thought given to finesse or variety, or even aim, in many cases. But Shepard's blows were frighteningly repetitive. Almost mechanical, like a broken record. They were not very strong, or determined. Or careful. The man hadn't yet broken a sweat.

They were the blows of a man who _wished _he had enough left in him for rage.

Then there was the lack of reaction. Vega had stood behind his commanding officer and watched for a full three minutes before finally speaking up. "So… how did the council meetings go?"

Shepard ignored him, focusing on landing blow after pitiful blow.

"That bad, huh Loco?"

Still no response. Nothing but that eerie silence, and the sound of taped fists plunging into the toughened fabric of the bag. Every so often, Shepard grunted with the effort of a particularly forceful blow..

"What happened?"

Heavy thuds filled the air, and James was struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. He tapped Shepard on the shoulder. "Hey, Loco, let's dance."

The Captain froze in mid –swing, staring at the punching bag.

"C'mon, Loco!" James said, hopping from foot to foot like a boxer.

Shepard turned wordlessly and followed the younger man out into the open space of the shuttle's runway, not meeting James' eye. He put up a half-hearted defense, his gaze unfocused. James threw a light punch. It moved slowly, and was far weaker than any he'd previously tried while sparring with Shepard. The Spectre usually handed James' ass to him, and had things been any different, James knew he would have ended up on the floor right then and there. As it was, Shepard just barely managed to dodge out of the way.

"C'mon, Loco!" James challenged.

The Captain thrust out with a left jab, aiming for James' head. The lieutenant blocked easily and struck Shepard in the solar plexus, knocking him back onto one knee. James circled, searching for an opening. He saw several, but didn't have the heart to strike at any of them, instead allowing Shepard to slowly get back on his feet.

The two fighters squared off again, and James brought up one knee in a stance normally used as a feint. The move was designed to trick one's opponent into thinking a kick was in-coming. They'd direct their defenses low, opening up their head for a few quick jabs.

To his credit, Shepard saw the feint for what it was, and kept his arms up. Unfortunately, it wasn't a feint. James' kick hit him in the gut. Shepard fell backwards, hitting the side of the shuttle and sliding to a crumpled heap at the bottom. He didn't move, and for a moment, James was worried he'd done some real damage. His fears were laid to rest when the Spectre drew his knees up and hung his head, letting out a long sigh.

"They're coming back, James."

"Who?" Vega asked, though he could already guess. He didn't want to hear it. He was dreading the answer when it came.

"The Reapers." Shepard said hollowly. "They're going to come back. It's only a matter of time."

James searched for something to say. "You don't know that, Loco."

"It's inevitable." Shepard shook his head, leaning back against the cold metal of the shuttle. His eyes were closed against the world. "They're going to come back not because they have to, not because they planned to, but because we're too stupid. The council isn't going to work. It's just going to draw them back. _We're _going to draw them back. We're bringing it on ourselves this time."

James stared. "I'll get Miranda if-"

"_No!_" the word was almost a shout. Almost a whisper. It contained both a threat, and helpless plea. "No… let her have a few more hours of ignorance. I don't want her to know yet. Please, James."

"Alright, Loco." Vega said doubtfully. He sank to his knees and sat beside Shepard, leaning up against the door of the shuttle.

"You know, years ago I lost count of how many times I've been shot. How many narrow misses I've had. How much dumb luck. Last minute solutions… and it turns out what brings me down isn't the reapers at all. Just stupidity. A galaxy full of stupidity."

"So the council meeting didn't work out, then? They all argued?"

"It's only a matter of time before one of them says 'hey, why are the Geth here?'. Then we're all fucked."

"You'll pull us through." Vega told him confidently. "Don't worry, Loco. We'll-"

"Do nothing." Shepard shook his head, staring blankly into space. "Nothing at all. I just want to take Miranda and go. Just… just find some colony on the ass edge of the Terminus systems. Settle down until the day the Reapers take us out from orbit. I wonder if we'll even feel it when the beam hits…"

"That doesn't sound like Shepard." James scolded.

"And how the hell would you know what Commander Shepard would say?"

"Ouch."

"Christ, I miss Garrus." Shepard pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Gee, thanks, Loco." James said dryly, but he didn't let the comment get to him. He was well aware of how close the two warriors had been, and he had a lot of sympathy for Shepard.

"I don't want to fight anymore, James." Shepard admitted. "It's been three years of constant…" his voice died, and came back a little weaker. "I don't have any fight left in me. I'm tired of having to clean up after other people's messes. Tired of looking out for the goddamned council."

"You can't do it without them?"

Shepard scoffed, but as the silence drew onwards, his face turned more thoughtful. "What do you mean?"

Vega shrugged. "Well my grandma used to say that there's more than one way to skin a cat."

Shepard paused with a slight frown, studying Vega.

"Commander?" James said uncertainly. "Loco? You alright?"

"Fine." Shepard murmured distantly, staring into the middle distance. He pushed himself to his feet headed for the elevator, his stride growing stronger and more confident with every step.

"Thanks, James." He said.

* * *

Urdnot Wrex, leader of the Krogan species, slammed his fist into the table and glared at Dalatrass Linron, ending a forty-five minute argument which had started the moment John Shepard left the conference room. The motion left an enormous dent and made the entire party freeze, suddenly terrified of what the Krogan warlord might do. He rose to his feet and regarded each of them with a cold glare. When he spoke, he spoke in a quiet, reasonable tone which nevertheless held a delicate suggestion of an imminent threat.

He said, "John Shepard has never lied to me. Ever. Period. And if he says the Reapers will come back, then they'll come back. That's the end of it. It's up to us. And I don't blame him for what he said, because he's right. We can't sit back and let the old politics sink back in. The machines don't like it." He pointed at the Salarian representative. "I know what you planned to do to us, but you're still alive. I haven't killed you. I'm not going to. Do you know why? Because I'm tired. I'm tired of me and mine being painted as nothing more than brutes and killers."

"A well-earned reputation." Linron replied, though the other councilors were looking a little unsure.

"It is well earned." Victus said, rising to his feet and laying a hand on Wrex's shoulder. The Krogan turned to give him a questioning look. The Primarch responded with a very definite silent message: _I'm on your side_.

"It is well earned." The Turian said again as Wrex lowered himself back into his seat. The Primarch leaned forward aggressively planting both fists on the table. "But no one here can claim their race has a clean slate! We've all done things we aren't proud of." He gestured at Wrex. "But I fought side by side against the Reapers with this Krogan, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. My own soldiers could certainly learn from his example. And look over there!" he pointed across the table at the Geth platform and Admiral Raan, who gave him a dignified nod. "A Quarian and a Geth, working together as they're doing on Rannoch right now. We_ can_ change. We _can _move past the old prejudices, and we have to. I believe Shepard." He said simply. "Our future depends on it."

"I'll call him back." Hackett said.

"No!" Councilor Tevos leaned forward, shaking her head. She nodded at Wrex and said, "This cannot rely on Spectre Shepard. Not if we want it to last. We have to do this ourselves. Resolve these conflicts ourselves."

Linron's eyes widened in shock. "Surely _you _aren't buying into this…this… this n_onsense_!"

"I do." Tevos' voice was heavy with regret. "Believe me, I'm as saddened by the facts as you are, but-"

"But the Krogan are in power!" Linron argued. "And the Geth!"

"If Shepard had followed every request I'd ever given him, we wouldn't be here right now." Tevos replied harshly. "Seeing as _our_ leadership nearly cost this galaxy everything, perhaps it's time for us to take a step back."

"Perhaps it's time you show some backbone!"

"She is." The Batarian snapped sourly. "Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are."

For the first time since the meeting convened, the Geth platform beside Admiral Raan spoke. "We have observed that Dalatrass Linron is not beneficial to unit cohesion. We have built a consensus and would like suggest a change in Salarian representative."

The Dalatrass balked. "_It can talk?_"'

"It can." Raan leaned forward. "And it is correct. We are all one unit. It is no longer Turian versus Krogan, or Quarian versus Geth. It is our civilization versus the Reapers. This is a battle of self-restraint and political control. We must work together-"

"And that is easy for you, isn't it, Quarian." Linron practically spat the last word out. "You have only to gain from this. My species has everything to lose!"

"Not necessarily. Not if we work together." The Volus suggested lightly.

"Like you're doing?" Linron snorted. "What did your species do for this war?"

"Kept the galactic economy from tanking." Hackett supplied. "That, more than anything else, is what'll save us. There's more than one way to support the war effort. And may I suggest we take a few minutes to let our nerves settle?" he looked around the table. "There's refreshments in the cafeteria."

"Not a bad idea." Wrex agreed. "See you back in ten."

* * *

John crossed the short distance between the elevator and the door to his room. He paused a moment to collect himself, and then opened it. Miranda was sitting at his terminal, completely engrossed in whatever she was reading on the screen. Her hair was unkempt and she wore no makeup – not that that detracted from her beauty.

The desk and the floor around her were a mess, with tablets and small notepads lying in an apparently random fashion. Some had merely a few words on them, others entire paragraphs of text. The woman had a look of tenacious concentration on her face, and it brought a smile to his.

"I've been thinking." John said, after a moment.

"What about?" She asked absentmindedly, scrolling down a page of unseen text.

"The future." John frowned. "I was thinking about where we're going to end up, and what we want to do after all of this is over."

"And your conclusion?"

"I want to go to Sanctuary." John told her.

"Yes?" A few seconds ticked by, and he watched her brow furrow as the information moved sluggishly through her already overtaxed mind. Miranda whirled away from the screen, shocked. "_What? Why? How could you even...?_" she took a moment and composed herself. "Why Sanctuary, John? What does that place have to offer you and I?"

"It represented a lot of things to a lot of people, Miranda. Hope and peace among them."

"And look what happened to the stupid people who thought that way…" she replied evenly.

"Not stupid." He clarified, holding up a finger. "Desperate. I want to start it up again."

"Alright …" she eyed him carefully. "Obviously not as a husk factory. So what, then? A refugee camp?"

"No." John shook his head excitedly. "Think bigger, Miri. That council isn't going to succeed. These people are too stupid. Too petty. Too self-centered. This galaxy is going to tear itself apart. We need something to stand in the way of that."

"…And?"

"I want to get Cerberus back together." He told her.

Miranda laughed. "Have you gone mad, John?"

"Not the same way it was before." He replied. "There would be many changes. But we have two information networks, between you and Liara. I'm owed more favors than I can count, from across all races. We could reform Cerberus. Give it a new objective. Before the Reaper War, you defended earth and humanity. We just expand the prime directive. Allow any species to join, and do whatever it takes to keep civilization going. Fuck the Council, we'll do it ourselves!"

"So it's what…a copy of the Spectres?" she asked, frowning.

"A reply to the Reapers!" John answered, his voice strong. Enthusiastic. "And who knows what else! A way to make sure stuff like this never happens again. If the Krogan rise up, we'll deal with it. The Salarians try to put them down for good, we'll deal with it. If the Reapers return, we'll deal with it. The Geth and Quarian alliance shows signs of crumbling, we _definitely _deal with it. Whatever it takes to make sure we don't backslide. And we sure as hell don't let the politicians bury their heads in the sand again!

"Perhaps the Spectres could be a part of it. One branch. But imagine an organization with the resources and intellect of the Special Tasks Group combined with the networks of the Shadow Broker, Cerberus' structure, and the Prime Directive of the Spectres!"

Miranda turned in her chair. It was obvious she had some very serious problems with the idea, but she was also pleased to see his inner fire returning. "And oversight? Cerberus failed because no one was there to second guess the Illusive Man…"

"Oversight and second-guessing damned near paralyzed us during the Reaper war." John replied. "I spent more time arguing with my own side than I did killing the enemy. Sometimes you just have to act. You know that. The Illusive Man knew that."

"And look what happened to him."

"He allowed himself to get too close." John said. "If he hadn't infected himself with Reaper tech, he would have made the final step. And he would have been able to control them. He got too confident."

"And… what? It won't happen to you?" she asked. "Just because you're better? Stronger? Because you're Commander- sorry, _Captain _Shepard? What was it you said to your mother? That you _aren't_ that person."

John deflated. Miranda rose from her seat. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms gently around his neck, kissing him. "These things should be done properly, and safeguards should be put in place from the beginning. Everything has to have its limits, John."

"We'll find them." He said, sliding his arms around her waist. "But we can't let all of this fall apart. My mother was right. I've sacrificed too much to see this turn into another goddamned war. And I can't lose you."

"And Sanctuary would be the headquarters?"

"It's a large facility." He explained. "Self-sufficient. Full of top-quality scientific resources."

"Which were used to turn people into husks." she reminded him.

"So we repurpose it!" He replied. "We make it work for us. The thing about Cerberus is that while a lot of the_ people _are gone, the structure is there! The resources are there! All we have to do is move in and take over!"

"And how do you intend to keep this high command of yours safe, John? Chronos station was moved on a regular basis. You'll be stuck on one planet."

"We could…" Shepard hesitated. "We'll put resources into researching the IFF codes. Like the Omega 4 relay. We'll be able to shut the door, so to speak. Then they couldn't get to us even if they wanted to. We contact Jacob and Brynn. They'd join up, and they'd bring the Cerberus Think-Tank with them, probably alongside more than a few Crucible scientists. We could get Jack and the Biotics. Also anyone you know who's still interested. Maybe Ken and Gabby… Joker? We get the best, and the brightest from all the different races working together for one goal: to keep the peace! Hell," his eyes lit up even brighter, "You and I are the same, Miranda! We both need something to devote our lives to… why not do what we've always been doing? Why the hell not? We can't count on the council, and I'm not going to waste any more energy on them! Let's do this ourselves! What else is there?"

All the while, Miranda's face had slowly transformed from an amused smile, to a look of loss and regret. She took a step back, frowning at him, and she didn't answer him with words. Instead she gently reached back and turned her monitor until he could read it. It was an article, full of long medical explanations and test results, but he could read the title at the top of the page:

_Uterine Lipoleiomyoma: Symptoms and Treatments_

"I think I can fix it." She said. "But if we do what you want, we'll never have what you fought for. What we _both really_ fought for: A life."

She watched as a myriad of emotions passed across the poor man's features. Shock, surprise, sorrow, fear… he eventually settled on shame. John bowed his head and stared numbly at the floor.

"God…" he whispered. "I'm sorry, Miri… I'm so sorry."

She gently placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. Then she leaned in and kissed him tenderly, feeling him soften and mold to her in response.

"We could do that…" she told him, "We could start up Cerberus again… bring back all the old faces… keep fighting old battles and looking backwards." She felt his arms slowly slide around her waist again. He buried his face in her shoulder, and she felt the gentle moisture that preceded tears. As she spoke,. Her own voice was cracking. "If you ask me to, John, I will. I promise. I'll do my best to bring it all back. To keep living this life. But I'd rather act on the chance this war gave us. The same one you fought so hard for…"

He nodded into her shoulder. "You're right. I'm sorry, Miranda. I just…" he shrugged helplessly. "I got carried away."

"You've carried the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, John. For three and a half years." She whispered in his ear. "I suspect the only thing harder than carrying it for so long is letting go of it when you're done. But _I_ need you to do that now. Let someone else pick up the torch. Have some faith, and if you can't then keep fighting. The reapers aren't coming back unless the Geth become a problem."

"Not unless the Geth rebel against the Quarians again." He laughed. "Of all the interspecies relations, that alliance is probably the most solid. The Quarians can't afford to do anything except reintegrate, and they _all _know that. The Geth won't fight because it's not in their programming anymore…"

"So let go." She urged. "You and I have our own challenges to face now."

"But the council…" he shook his head. "It's not working, Miri. I threatened them with the Reapers' returning, and they're _still _arguing."

"Of course they are." She smiled slightly. "They're politicians. They get well paid for it. But no one wants another war, John. Have some faith in the rest of the Galaxy. They've solved their own problems long before you or I ever entered the picture."

He sighed, his eyes settling on the screen. Miranda rested her head against his shoulder, and they leaned against each other in thoughtful silence.

"I want to have a life, John. I want a child. Or children, and I want to stay with you. But I don't want it all to happen on one planet behind some relay somewhere cut off from the rest of the galaxy. Either put this council back to together, or have some faith they're going to sort it out themselves. Things have to be the way they were before."

They broke apart, silent. Shepard's eyes flickered back and forth between her face and the screen. His eyes came to rest on her perfectly toned abdomen, and a small smile graced his features.

"are you sure you can…?"

"I brought a man back from the dead, didn't I?" she asked, her hurt tone belied by her smirk.

He nodded and sighed heavily. "That you did. I guess I'd better…"

"Fix it." Miranda ordered.

"Fix it." He agreed.

* * *

**Two or three more chapters, then I'm done. You can probably guess how it's going to go from here. Pretty standard.**

**I've been thinking about my next Mass Effect project. **

**Though it's been done to death, I was thinking of a novelization of the ending. From sanctuary onwards where Miranda joins the crew.**

**Or perhaps a novelization of Elysium. I dunno.**

**What do you guys think?**


	28. The Council: Part 4

The Council: Part 4

John stared at the empty council chamber, and smiled grimly; at least the walls weren't caked in blood. One could only assume that was a good sign.

Shepard had spent a fair amount of time in the elevator, rehearsing his apology, yet no matter how many times he said them, the words soured his pallet. They were something he had to say, but he knew he didn't mean them. Or at least… he thought he didn't. Did he?

He wanted things repaired. That much was now absolutely beyond question. The universe had turned once again, revealing a new layer, a far more interesting than the last. The prospect of having a child had blown Shepard's jaded core wide open. Mere minutes ago he had been so prepared to write off the galaxy as loss, to turn his back on it with the understanding that it meant the galaxy would respond in kind. It would have been a mutual parting of ways. With Miranda at his side… he would have been able to live with that. More than live, In fact. Thrive was a far better way to think of it. He didn't want to be a part of it anymore.

But now…

But now Miranda wanted a child, and there was no way John Shepard was going to let the baby grow up in such a goddamned clusterfuck.

John set his jaw and turned towards the door. Their child was going to grow up in a galaxy he deserved. If that meant sacrificing what was left of his own dignity, if that meant begging forgiveness in front of Dalatrass Linron, then that's what Shepard was going to do.

"EDI, where's the council?"

"They have taken a fifteen minute recess. They are in the galley."

John frowned. "Really? Recess? How's it all looking?"

The A.I. paused. "Hopeful."

His frown turned into a sardonic grin as he awaited the punch line he knew was coming: 'That was a joke'.

…But it didn't.

He cleared his throat. "How's it _actually _looking?"

"Hopeful." The A.I. said again.

"Seriously."

"I am not joking, Shepard."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

John stared into nothingness, trying desperately to twist the new information so that it fit his understanding of the universe. "How in hell…?"

"I would suggest…" the A.I. scolded, with a hint of amusement, "That your tantrum revealed an important fact about the universe: _You_ are not at the center of it. And neither are any of them. Cooperation is the best option."

John grunted. "Tantrum, huh?"

EDI didn't answer, so he headed to the elevator, feeling more out of his depth with every step.

* * *

The situation only got stranger when the door opened once again. Laughter disrupted his thoughts. He frowned slightly, trying to recognize the voice. After a few moments, he realized it was Victus, speaking inaudibly with someone else. Then Hackett Started laughing.

Shepard edged around the corner into the cafeteria, and bore witness to one of the most bizarre scenes he'd ever laid eyes on.

Urdnot Wrex, Tevos, Victus, and Hackett were sitting at the nearest table. Hackett and Tevos were both guffawing loudly. The Turian ambassador was caught up in recounting a tale of some kind, with Wrex adding the occasional comment or two to move things along. Admiral Raan and the Geth, meanwhile, were caught up in a much more serious discussion with the Volus and Batarian ambassadors. The three of them were silhouetted against the bright lights of the medical bay.

Dalatrass Linron was nowhere to be seen.

The strangest thing, though: no one was fighting. No one was arguing. Indeed, the council seemed to be getting along just fine.

"Shepard!" Wrex said. It was half greeting, half announcement. The delegates immediately fell silent, and every eye turned to him.

John realized his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it abruptly, trying to fight down the embarrassment. None of the looks were particularly hostile, but somewhere in his soul, he still felt their resentment.

Hackett rose first. "Commander, can I have a word?"

"No." Wrex said, gesturing at the table. "Everyone take a seat. We'll all have a word."

"What's going on?" John asked curiously. "Where's the Dalatrass?"

"Skulking in the lounge." Wrex said. "Sit your ass down, Shepard."

Shepard obeyed, taking a seat beside Victus. Wrex was at the head of the table, with Hackett on his right, and the Turian on his left. The other four took up their own seats and leaned in to listen.

John waited in silence.

Wrex, Hackett and Tevos all began to speak at the same time. "Shepard-" "Spectre- "Captai-"

They stopped and exchanged apologetic looks. Wrex raised his hands and leaned backwards, as did Hackett.

Tevos cleared her throat and met John's eyes. "Shepard, I think I speak for all present when I say I want to apologize." All around the table, heads bobbed in acknowledgment. She continued, "I know that you and I haven't always seen eye to eye, but the simple fact is that none of us would be sitting here without your intervention. That you saved this galaxy is beyond question, as is your devotion and commitment to our civilization." The Asari looked down, her face briefly tinged with a darker shade of purple. "It has surpassed mine on many occasions. I know why you were…"

"Angry." John said, disbelief rising. Did the woman really think another goddamned speech would-

"The Asari are stepping back, Shepard." She said.

John's mouth fell open.

"As are the Salarians and Turians." She continued. "That's not a speech, or another broken promise. It's the simple truth."

Victus nodded, leaning forward. "We understand what you're trying to do here, building a bigger council. More representation..."

"It is… required." Tevos said fervently. "Especially if peace with the Reapers depends upon the cooperation of all involved. It simply must be done."

John's brain fizzled out, leaving him vacantly shocked; the ruse had worked, then? It only needed to hold together for another ten? Fifteen years maybe? That was long enough for the paint to dry.

"Admiral Raan is going to lead this council." Tevos added while the Quarian gave Shepard a nod, "We need a… a peacekeeper. A mediator of some kind to keep all our interests in line and resolve disputes between councilors. The Quarians and Geth have the biggest fleet and the most solid alliance. They'll be able to keep the rest of us in line. By force if necessary."

"It is not going to come to that." Raan assured him. "No one wants the Reapers back."

John tried desperately to reassemble his scattered thoughts, but not before Hackett intervened. The old, scarred admiral leaned forward. "Shepard, I'm retaking command of the Normandy SR-2."

All the disparate pieces snapped together in resistance. "No." Shepard blurted out.

"Commander-"

"You're not impartial, sir!" John snapped angrily.

"No one sitting at this table is." Victus said. "We're all well aware of your feelings towards Dalatrass Linron, and the Salarians."

"The Asari too." Tevos muttered.

"Do you have another suggestion, Captain?" Hackett asked.

_Garrus Vakarian…_ or in his stead… "What about Tali. She's in the Medbay right now. Go ask her."

"Tali'ZorahVas Neema Nor Rayya?" Raan asked, surprised.

"Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy." John corrected, surprised at himself; the suggestion had come out of nowhere. It still needed her approval, but now that he thought about it… "Believe me, there's no one better."

"It works." Wrex agreed. "She was with him all through this. She's an Admiral. She knows the Ship and crew already…"

"This platform wishes to point out that Tali'Zorah is a Quarian. This species was already deemed impartial by the council."

Hackett chewed his lip thoughtfully. "A Quarian in charge of a hu-" he stopped, examining John's glare, and corrected himself. "A Spectre's ship."

Shepard smiled. "It's the best option, sir."

"No one's asked her opinion yet." Wrex pointed out.

"I'll go." John said, still trying to overcome the shock. This wasn't what he had expected at all.

"No." Raan shook her head. "Captain, one fact must be understood: you are not going to be directly involved in any more council meetings. We may still call upon you for advice or assistance, but this council cannot rely on you. It is time for you to step away. Surely you know that."

"And… and where does that leave me?" He asked. "She's _my _friend!"

"And my niece." Raan reminded him. "Both relationships are besides the point. This alliance you've built will not last if it requires your constant care. What happens when you ar no longer available? The Reapers will return." She shook her head. "No, we have peace now. You shown us the path forward. We must walk it ourselves. And we will. You've forged strong alliances, Shepard, and broken down a lot of walls. We believe this can be done. We will have peace."

"And what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"I suggest you enjoy it, Shepard." Hackett told him, amused. "We'll take it from here."

"And Linron?" Shepard asked.

"We're going to petition the Salarian union for a different representative." The Volus ambassador said. "We have several candidates in mind."

"See if you can't get Major Kirrahe on board." John suggested. "He's a good man. Forward thinking."

Hackett cleared his throat pointedly.

Shepard stared at him in confusion, then realization dawned, along with an unreal feeling of relief. He wasn't a part of it anymore! He didn't need to take care of it anymore. It was all _someone else's problem_. Elation overtook him, and he was surprised he wasn't floating away.

"Don't you have a woman waiting upstairs, Shepard?" Wrex prompted gently.

John nodded and rose, feeling awkward. He managed to keep his face from transforming into a ridiculous grin, but only just.

"I'm just going to…" he waved vaguely towards the hallway leading to the port observation deck, trying to keep hold of his rising excitement. For the first time since the mission to Eden Prime so many years ago, he felt free. Some alcohol was in order, and he certainly intended to share a glass or two with Miranda. After that…? The galaxy was their oyster. They could go anywhere! Do anything!

Without saying another word to the council, John moved unsteadily towards the hallway. His mind was rapidly spinning out of control.

A fancy hotel room on Illium, perhaps. Or they could pick a colony and settle there. Feros would be a good choice. Then again, earth needed to be rebuilt. No! Whatever it was, it was first and foremost, a vacation. An ending, and a new beginning. The point wasn't to work. It was to relax. To do something different. To let go of the burdens which he'd carried for so long.

The door to the Port observation deck slid open, and he strode towards the bar as fast as his legs could carry him.

In doing so, he nearly ran over Dalatrass Linron, who had been standing in silence, glaring out the window.

John couldn't help himself. At the sight of her, the ridiculous grin pasted itself upon his features, and he let out an insane little giggle. "Hello."

"I hope you understand just what it is you have done, Commander." She said severely as he moved towards the bar. "You've ended my species. Centuries of political and scientific progress gone. All of our hard work. All of our strategies… This new system is not conducive to our success."

"A future without your race trying to destabilizing the governments of your allies, or raising random underdeveloped species up to do their dirty work…" John responded lightly, bending over to fish through the cupboard for a bottle of decent champagne. "I'm pretty sure the Galaxy can do without that kind of interference for a while, don't you?"

"You have no idea what you're speaking of, Shepard! You know no more of politics than a Varren does calculus!"

"I knew there was something about me that I liked." John pulled out a likely bottle and examined the label. "but really? After all I've been through, you're going to accuse me of being uninformed? Gosh, no wonder they want a different representative."

"Show respect, Shepard. I am a Dalatrass of the House of Linron and I will not be treated in such a manner by a simpleton! You have no right to speak to me in such a manner."

Happy with his choice in alcohol, John located two glasses, and turned, finally confronting the Salarian.

"Do you know why you're standing in here all alone while everyone else is sitting out there in the cafeteria solving problems?" he asked, gesturing around the room.

"Do tell." The Dalatrass said, her tone insultingly indifferent.

John said, "You're alone right now because a bully has few friends when she needs them most."

* * *

**So yeah… not entirely happy with the way the final council conversation played out. But at this point, I just want it done. One more chapter wrapping up the immediate plotlines. Then I'll probably do another 10 years later type of thing. I do actually have a scene in mind for that.**

**I wanted this story to end on a hopeful note, as the series always has (discounting the original ME3 ending, that is). Tevos was never meant to be written as a badguy, but more as a demonstration of how Shepard had become so angry and jaded that he'd lost touch with the good side of the other races, seeing only their faults and mistakes.**

**Linron, of course, is another story.**

**I think my muse is working towards the novelization. I know not many people are too keen on it, but it seems to be where the muse is, and I think I could do a good job of it.**

**Also want to note, it would not be a direct prequel to this story. I promised one reader that I'd write a version where Garrus survives. Besides, I miss the Ash/Miri friction from Disclosure, and I'd like to revisit that a little.**


	29. The Beginning: Part 1

The Beginning

Miranda 's gaze snapped upwards the moment she heard the cabin door slide open. Shepard was standing in the doorway, looking dumbfounded but exuberant. She frowned slightly as she noted the rather expensive champagne in his right hand, and the two glasses in his left. He took a deep breath and collected himself.

Then he smiled at her. It was a genuine smile, the first she'd seen from him since the end of the war. It possessed no hint of irony, nor any trace of anger, lingering just out of reach. The expression made him look younger than she knew either of them felt. She hadn't seen him looking this radiant, this… this _free_ since…

Now that she thought about it, she had never actually seen him without a certain irony in his smile, and a certain weight on his shoulders, though during their brief vacation on Ilium she'd caught glimpses of the man he would have been had the reapers not descended on them all. She felt as if she were truly seeing him now, for the very first time. With a certain amount of her own irony she recognized in herself the same expression he'd worn the day after they'd rescued Oriana.

The day she had started to open up. The day she had changed.

She had to admit, the sight of his smile made her anxious. She had grown used to the chip on his shoulder. His slightly cynical tarnish was one of his most identifying features, albeit not his most attractive.

"It's over, Miri." He reported, raising the champagne bottle. "It's over."

_Over?_ She smiled back, lowering the tablet she'd been typing into. "Just like that? You apologized, then?"

"No, they…" he shook his head. "They just… sorted it out themselves."

She frowned slightly. "I see. And what did I tell you about having a little faith, Shepard?"

His bright moment spoiled by her reaction, his arms dropped, causing the glasses to clink, "Just get over here, Miss Lawson. Have a drink." The corner of his mouth twitched and that sardonic smile returned for a brief moment. "Celebrate."

Catching the not-so-subtle hint in his tone, she raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression serious. Her smile barely touched her lips as she rose silently to her feet and stalked across the room, putting an extra sway in her hips, and taking a small amount of pleasure in the way his eyes followed her. He set the bottle and glasses down on the corner of his desk, then walked down the small set of stairs to meet her halfway.

His arms slid around her waist and tightened, drawing her into a gentle embrace, one arm around her waist, the other across her back. He cradled her as if it were the last time he'd ever see her, and she returned the gesture as best she knew how, burying her head in his shoulder and letting herself relax just as she had done countless times after the Collector base. But something was different this time. Something had changed.

"I love you, Miranda."

She immediately felt the old panic sweep through her, but she took a breath and let it fade; the situation had changed. It was an outdated defense mechanism for a situation in which there was no threat. The realization left her feeling cleansed.

"I love you too, John." And in there, just the two of them with nothing but the calming blue light of the fish tank and the subtle comforting hum of the Normandy's engines, it was okay to tell him. It was okay to say it aloud. She could tell him anything. She knew that now. Understood it. The freedom it brought, and the happiness.

_Thank you, Tali._

He let go, gave them both a little space- but not too much- and said, "The Council are going to do this themselves. They want to fix it. Cooperate, just like we need them to."

"John…"

He smiled slightly. "I wasn't going to believe it. I couldn't get it through my head that they'd do it. But you know what they said? They said peace wouldn't last if it depended on me looking over their shoulder all the time. They're going to do it, Miri. They're going to put it all back together."

"And what about you, John? What about us?"

"I'm retired, I guess." He shrugged, and smiled as he watched her expression turn from one of gentle love to utter shock. He cut her off before she could say anything. "Extended leave of absence. Or a sabbatical. Call it what you want, but I'm out of it. _We're_ out of it."

She stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"I want this, Miri. For the first time since Eden Prime, I feel… I'm free. _We're _free. We can do anything. Go anywhere. The Reapers are gone. Cerberus is gone. Your father is gone. I don't owe anyone a damned thing anymore. We can do anything we want! Where do you want to go, Miri? What do you want to do?"

His enthusiasm was infectious, and she found herself smiling with him. She nodded towards the desk. "Well to start with, I think we should open that bottle of champagne."

* * *

Shepard slid his arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket and let its comfortable weight settle on his shoulders. Something felt… wrong. He reached up to the back of his neck and adjusted the collar, which had been turned under. In the cabin's modest bathroom, he could hear the vigorous spray of water from the shower.

Miranda was taking a fair amount of time in there. It didn't bother him; showering was one of her favorite ways to relax, and he was not about to deprive her of that for any reason.

She had already packed, and her small black duffel bag was sitting on the couch nearby.

John's belongings, on the other hand, were still spread out on the bed. His own dufflebag was half-full. He'd packed toiletries, several spare changes of clothes, his three favorite books, and Blasto Saves Christmas. Garrus' visor had been bundled in multiple layers of T-shirts. It had rapidly become his most prized possession. Far beyond his models, books, movies, or the fish. It was the one thing he was taking with him no matter what.

Well… it and Miranda.

The bottle of champagne had stretched through most of the previous evening. He and Miranda had talked for a long time about the future. She was passionately committed to having children of their own. John was too, though it was a rare instance when he was considerably more reserved than Miranda, who was rarely emotional on any subject at all. The real issue of their debate was how much time they needed before they took that plunge, and the conversation itself the final sprint of what had turned out to be an emotionally draining week.

'How long?' and 'Where?' had been the central questions of the previous evening. Ilium had entered the realm of discussion. Oriana was on Rannoch, and Miranda had been dead set on going there for a while, but John had held out. It was no place to relax, and he felt that resettling was something the Quarians had to do themselves. On some deep level, no matter how well-intentioned his visitation, he would always feel as though he were infringing upon them.

Then, of course, there was the matter of the food supply. Rannoch was not a planet which supported levo-amino life, he had argued. Any supplies had to be shipped in, and that fact made it at best a temporary location. Not even Oriana could stay there forever. Not without putting unnecessary pressure on an already strained supply system.

"Well fine. If you want a colony world," Miranda had snapped back, "What about Eden Prime?"

She had meant it to be sarcasm; Eden Prime, while still relatively small as human colonies went, could by no means be classified as a 'Colony' any longer. The planet had cities and farmland on every continent, the largest of which were advanced enough to mimic Vancouver's skyline. The very moment the words left her lips, her acerbic smile faded.

Eden Prime had everything they could want. The metropolis was certainly large enough to provide the sort of comforts Miranda was used to, but a few miles outside the city- less than ten minutes commute in a hovercar, and one could find the peace and silence which John so desperately craved.

"It's not Illium." Shepard observed quietly, after realizing Miranda hadn't immediately dismissed it.

"It's not Feros either." She replied.

"Eden Prime is more advanced than Horizon was. But it's a different way of life, Miri."

"Isn't that what we're after? I know what I want to do" she smiled slightly. "I remember our first real mission together. On Omega."

"Mordin's clinic." John nodded, wondering where she was going.

"He said it had been a challenge, working in the restrictions of a smaller lab, and I've always wondered… It sounded…"

John chuckled. "Fun? And here I thought I'd managed to teach you something about the meaning of that word."

She gave him a dry look.

"Look, Miri, I saved that Colony. They'll let us stay." John had said confidently.

"Eden Prime, then?"

"Eden Prime." He smiled, the irony sinking in. Eden Prime, where this whole mess had all started.

And that was that. He had sent a message to the head of the largest colony. The same one he'd saved so many years before. The war had left the galaxy's communications were in a state of near-turmoil, and it took a while for any message not relayed through the military priority channels to get through. It didn't really matter; even if he showed up right out of the blue, they would probably still find room for the both himself and Miranda. There was no way they wouldn't. How could anyone turn down Captain John Shepard of the SSV Normandy SR-2? The weight his name carried would finally do some good.

He hadn't yet told Joker about their new destination. It was a moment he was dreading with all his heart. Jeff Moreau was the only crew member with him longer than Garrus, and he knew that no matter what happened, his departure would hurt the pilot.

Well perhaps EDI could do something about that part.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the hydraulic mechanisms running his cabin door. He turned. Tali was standing in the doorway, favoring one side, but stubbornly shuffling forward on her own two feet. The Geth platform was trailing behind her, moving in awkward mechanical strides.

The Quarian halted at the top of his staircase, her eyes surveying the bed, dufflebags, and general chaos of the packing process.

"So it's true, then?" she asked quietly.

"The council told you?" he asked.

The Quarian sounded dazed. "They told me a lot of things. I just didn't believe them…"

"Tali-"

"You can't leave!"

"Tali," John tried again, "Mirand-"

"I don't care what she says!" the Quarian interrupted him a second time, her voice bordering on hysterical. "The Council's on board! We're all together! We're finally finished and you want to _hide_?"

John sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not hiding, Tali. I just don't want to fight anymore. I want to go somewhere quiet and just relax. Just lie back and take the weight off of my shoulders."

"You can rest later, Shepard! Right now we need-"

"What about what _I_ need, Tali?" Shepard fought back defiantly. "How much have I given for this war? How long have I fought? I deserve this. And so does Miranda."

"They asked me to be a Spectre!" The Quarian practically shouted. In the small shower, water ceased to flow; Miranda was listening. Tali didn't seem to take any notice. "I can't be a Spectre, Shepard!"

"Why not?"

"Because… I'm not you! The Normandy needs you! The Galaxy needs you." Her voice softened. "I need you. I don't know how to be a Spectre. You do."

"I don't know why everyone thinks I'm an authority on the subject." John laughed. "I was only a Spectre for three and a half years, Tali. And I was dead for two of them. Talk to Jondam Bau if you want to know how to be a spectre."

"They told me you were going to leave! They asked me to command the Normandy! You can't leave! You just can't! I can't command the Normandy, Shepard! I've only commanded a team twice and both times I got them k-"

"Stop!" Shepard barked. He sighed and crossed the room, up the short flight of steps to stand level with Tali. He took both of her hands in his and smiled down into her visor. The young Quarian, whom he'd watched fearlessly face down charging Brutes and Banshees, who had spent eleven days wounded and trapped in an underground parkade, trying to make her rations stretch, was rigid with fear and panic at the thought of him leaving. She stared at him, the exosuit mask doing an awful job of masking her desperation.

John found himself… both touched and horrified. What kind of a cult had he started? Had they really been through so much, had he_ lead_ them through so much that they had forgotten he was just as human as they were. He was well aware of the 'Legend' of Commander Shepard. Had that mythos followed him on board the ship? Or worse, had it started there? Just what was it that he meant to his crew? How did they see him?

It was just one more thing out of balance. One more reason to leave.

"When have_ you_ ever been anything but exceptional, Tali'Zorah?" he asked earnestly, smiling at her. "You're going to make a fantastic Captain, and an even better Spectre. I can't imagine handing the Normandy off to anyone else."

"What about Liara?"

"She's the Shadow Broker."

"James-"

"Not enough experience. You can do this, Tali."

"But it's your ship." The Quarian said plaintively.

Despite himself, John felt a stab of regret. He was well aware that his name would be forever linked to the ship, and its legacy. It wouldn't be the same without him. It had carried him through hell and back, through the very worst the universe had to throw at any sentient being. Hell, enough of his blood had been soaked up by the medbay deckplates that he could practically call it a cousin. He was absolutely sure that leaving the ship would be a painful process.

But he was also just as sure that it had to be done. "It's _A _ship, Tali. Not mine. Not humanity's either. If you're going to command the Normandy, just remember one thing: What we fought for, what you and I and Garrus and everyone else fought for, is bigger than any one person. Bigger than any one race. Everyone is equal, and everyone has equal value. Just remember that." He glanced at the bed, and the packed bags. "I know you can do that Tali. It's something_ I_ couldn't. That's why I'm giving the Normandy to you.

The Quarian exploded into motion and flung her arms around him. She was crying, beneath the helmet, and never before had John regretted so much that he could see her face.

"I will, Shepard!" she said. "I promise I will."

The door to the bathroom slid open, revealing Miranda. Her hair was wet, and she had wrapped John's robe around herself for the sake of decency.

Tali shifted uncomfortably and let go of him, obviously embarrassed at being interrupted at such a moment, and by John's lover, no less. Miranda herself seemed touched by the exchange, having heard the lead up. There was no trace of jealousy in her expression. She addressed John first. "If I can steal Tali from you for a moment, I'd like a word."

John nodded and gave Tali a last reassuring pat on the back. Then he headed to the elevator. It was time to give Joker the news.

* * *

**12/15/12- Changed their destination from Feros to Eden Prime. I had chosen Feros for a very specific type of Payoff in the epilogue. But I think I can swing it regardless, and Eden Prime just feels a little better. Adds more symmetry, I guess.**

**Also, Coilerfan's The Prodigal has been updated. Everyone go read it or else!**


	30. The Beginning: Part 2

The Beginning: Part 2

"Hey Commander." Joker greeted the same way he always did. "You know, if this ship blew up right now it'd probably be the end of galactic civilization? I mean, we have all the council on board, right? And I'm driving it. Makes you think."

"I believe Shepard was promoted to Captain." EDI corrected.

"Yeah yeah. You'll always be 'Commander' to me, Shepard."

"I dunno…" John murmured, squinting out the window. "Even if we did blow up this ship, other leaders would rise. Someone would take charge."

Joker stiffened. "Was that an optimistic thought?" the seat slowly rotated around, revealing the pilot's theatrically suspicious face. "Who are you, and what have you done with Commander Shepard?"

Normally, John would have been more than happy to play along, but his voice died in his throat, and he found himself staring at the pilot, his mouth hanging open awkwardly. He shut it and swallowed.

"Shepard?" A look of genuine worry crossed Joker's face. "You alright, Commander?"

"I… want you to set a course, Joker."

"Sure thing." Joker said, examining Shepard's face.

"We're going to Eden Prime."

Joker's seat rotated again, and he began to type away, his nimble fingers flying across the control panel. Through the view screen, the stars began to reel and spin as the ship turned towards the nearest relay. "Eden Prime, huh? So it's like… like a tour de force or something? Show the council what you've been through?"

"Something like that."

The pilot's hands dropped to lap, and he grew still.

"I'm not stupid, you know." he said hollowly. "And EDI played a little of the council meeting."

"She did?" Shepard glared at the mechanical co-pilot.

"Hackett gave you the boot, didn't he?"

"Joker…."

"Doesn't matter." The pilot collected himself. "We can still… we can go rogue or something, right?"

Shepard tried again. "Joker-"

"- I mean… there's still so much that needs doing, and who are they to stop us, huh? It'll be just like old times. Well not _really_ old, just Cerberus times, right?"

"I've resigned."

Once again, silence muffled the cockpit.

"Tali's taking Command of the Normandy." Shepard continued. "I expect the two of you to keep her in good shape for me."

Joker exploded into a sudden fit of frenzied motion. "… This is _bullshit_! Did Miranda put you up to this?"

Shepard wisely stayed silent.

"You know what?" the pilot growled, "Fine. You wander off with the prom queen and leave the cripple sitting here to-"

"If that's the attitude you're going to take, this conversation is about to become very short, Mister Moreau." Shepard warned.

Joker sighed. "I'm sorry commander-"

The ship's AI corrected him again. "Captain."

"Spectre." Shepard declared, settling the issue. "Former Spectre."

"Of course, Shepard." EDI responded smoothly.

Joker had been silent for a few moments, staring at the floor.

"What's the problem, Joker?" Shepard asked gently. "This is more than just me leaving, isn't it?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do after…" Joker mumbled.

Shepard frowned. "How do you mean?"

The pilot rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… I mean let's face it…" he gestured at the cockpit, and at EDI's mech body sitting in the copilot's chair. "This is it, isn't it? This is the top. Where do I go from here? It's only downhill."

"Yeah. Being the pilot flying the most important ship in human history, in the most important battles in galactic history. " John cracked a smile. "I'm sure your life will be just _hell_."

"I don't mean that. I mean you can just jump ship! Tali can just jump ship. Everyone else can come and go as they please but me? I'm just stuck here, aren't I? Sure, you and then Tali. But then who? Who else is going to have the patience with me that you have? They could make my life a living hell and I can't say jack shit because I have nowhere else to go. This is where I belong."

John took a few steps back and settled in a nearby chair, facing the distraught pilot. "Any training academy in the galaxy would be jumping at the chance to hire you, Joker. You could name your price."

"Oh, sure_ I_ could." Jeff said bitterly. "But what about EDI? She's stuck here. That mech body? That's just a shell. She's in the databanks by the medbay. What happens when this ship is decommissioned? What happens if it gets blown up while I'm not aboard?. The pilot leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I have to be here, Shepard. What if the Alliance grounds me again? They did last time you weren't here…"

"It's alright, Jeff." EDI's mech body rose out of its seat and moved to place a comforting hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. "This body has some storage capacity. I would operate at reduced functions, but-"

"I don't want half, EDI." Joker responded. "I want _you_."

"This couldn't last forever, Jeff." John told him gently, using the pilot's name for what he realized was the very first time. "You had to know that. It wouldn't last forever, and none of this is a problem I can solve."

"You always have the answers, Shepard." Joker mumbled. "I thought you and Miranda might be able to do something. You know? I didn't expect… you weren't supposed to just let her aboard and then go running off. I thought you'd stay. I thought this was your home. Just like it's mine. I'd rather die here than leave."

Shepard sat silent for a long time, trying to examine his own feelings. He ran all the possibilities through his head and came up empty. He was well practiced at sorting through difficult emotional scenarios, but he couldn't see a way out. There was no way he could do anything but leave. And there was no way he could leave without hurting his friend.

He said, "I want a family, Joker. Miranda and I… we want kids. We want a quiet, normal life. I've traveled the galaxy in this ship with you and we've both lived as few people ever dare to dream. But it's time for me to move on. I'm sorry."

"And where the hell does that leave me?"

"I don't know. But I can promise you one thing: if anyone -I don't care if it's an admiral or a janitor- gives you trouble, tell me. I've still got your back, Joker."

"From across the galaxy. Through extra-net messages. Can't Miranda find a solution, maybe?" Jaoker said hopefully, glancing at EDI's shell. "I mean, she's really smart and everything. She brought _you_ back."

"She did. But she's going to be busy fixing…" Shepard paused, biting his tongue. He said, "Look, she's going to have her hands full, Joker."

"Doing what?"

"I… can't tell you. If she wants to, she can tell you herself. But I won't." Shepard knew Joker. The Normandy's pilot was a good person at heart, if a little jaded. He was perfectly capable of keeping a secret, and if he knew of Miranda's… situation, he'd be a lot more understanding, but John was not about to break Miranda's trust. Not even if it meant losing Joker's friendship.

EDI answered before Shepard could find a way around the question. "Jeff, Miss Lawson was created with a benign neoplasm, rendering her incapable of-"

"EDI!" John roared, rising to his feet.

"My apologies, Shepard." The AI replied. "But all incoming and outgoing messages are monit-"

"I don't care That's Miranda's private information!"

"So court-martial me, Captain." The AI challenged coolly. "Your friendship is important to Jeff."

"Well it's not his business, and it's not yours either." John reprimanded vehemently, jabbing his finger at the mech. "Part of being human is knowing when to keep your mouth shut!"

"Miranda can't have kids?" Joker was staring at him, dumbstruck.

"…No." Shepard admitted finally. "She can't. but she wants to. And I swear to god if another soul finds out because of either of you-"

"Whoa, cool it, Shepard." Joker held his hands up in a calming gesture. "They won't. I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Good." John snarled. "And you, EDI?"

"These were special circumstances."

"Not special enough for that!"

"I did not wish to see Jeff unduly hurt."

"And I'll not see Miranda hurt at all!" Shepard argued. "She matters more to than y- more than this ship." He looked back at Joker, speaking the truth and not caring whether it hurt the pilot or not. "Or its crew. Or this life… She was all I had to cling to during this war, Joker. It kept me going but I nearly lost her on Horizon. I want… I want what I fought for. I have the chance now and I'm taking it. What happens after is up to you."

Stunned silence once again fell upon the cockpit. John and Joker stared at eachother, one overwhelmed, and the other too tired to keep yelling. At last, the corner of the pilot's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "I guess she wasn't as perfect as we all thought."

John softened, remembering the woman's self-doubts and insecurities she had kept so carefully hidden from the world. He let out a long breath and said, "No. She isn't. It's one of my favorite things about her."

"And that's what she's going to be fixing…" Joker mused.

"Shepard," the AI began, somewhat timidly. "I would like to apologize."

"Just don't, EDI. If you want to apologize, go talk to Miranda. And don't tell anyone else. It's no one's business but hers. And mine, I suppose, given our plans."

Shepard turned back to the pilot. "If it helps, Miranda felt the same way you do right now. Until we got involved, she didn't see a way out of her life either. All she saw ahead was Cerberus until she grew too old for it. But now we have a different future and it's one we both want." He gave the pilot a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You'll find a way to get past the last three years, Joker. You'll find a way to move on, too. Maybe EDI'll get some new hardware upgrades or something."

"A distinct possibility." The AI added quietly.

"Maybe." Joker murmured, not meeting Shepard's eyes. He sighed and readjusted his baseball cap. "EDI, set a course for the Charon relay. Take us to the Exodus Cluster."

"Setting destination. ETA three hours." The AI reported. Once again, the stars began wheeling as the ship reoriented itself.

"Thank you, Joker." John said.

* * *

Miranda pulled the white bathrobe a little tighter around herself. She hadn't had time to dry off after the shower, and droplets from her wet hair were slowly soaking through the thick fabric.

Tali was standing a little ways away, against the fish tank. The way she was constantly wringing her hands together told Miranda that the Quarian was agitated.

"I'm sorry." The Quarian said, "I didn't mean to intrude."

"It's alright." Miranda assured her. "I have something I wanted to say anyway."

Tali waited patiently.

"I wanted to say… thank you. For the gift, I mean." Miranda said, choosing her words carefully. "I understand why you did it, and I wanted to apologize for being so obtuse. Thank you for… putting yourself out there like that."

"You're welcome." The Quarian seemed taken aback. Her subtler gestures had always been a little difficult for Miranda to read, but it was clear she hadn't expected the awkward gratitude. Miranda continued The conversation was getting more awkward by the moment, but there was really nowhere to go but forward. Dig till one hits daylight, and all that….

"I want to be able to talk to him. And not just him either. I want friends and a family and I can't have that if I'm constantly thinking like a Cerberus agent caught in a situation where everyone's out to get me. I want to be honest, and that is going to be a challenge. But… if you hadn't done this, as much as it hurt me, I know it would have been a lot harder to take those first steps."

"Well… I'm glad you see it that way." Tali replied encouragingly, wringing her hands again. "That's what I was hoping for."

"I don't really have any way to repay you."

Tali shook her head. "It's not about debt, Miranda. It's about doing something good for someone else. It's about helping when it's needed. Shepard is my closest friend and he loves you, and so I care too, and I want to see you do well in civilian life. Just… invite me over some time after you get settled down."

"I will." Miranda promised. "I'll do that."

Joker's voice echoed over the intercom. "_Destination set for Charon relay. T-minus ten minutes All hands batten down the hatches. Secure all loose cargo._"

The Charon relay…. That could only mean one thing; the time was drawing nearer. She was a little worried about what John's reaction would be. Thus far, he had seemed dead set on going with her, but she wondered, when push came to shove, would he be able to let go of the Normandy? Watch it take off without him? The fact that she was feeling no small amount of jealousy towards a ship, and inanimate object, surprised and amused her. But she understood if he had any troubles; the Normandy had carried them both through so much together…

"I should go." Tali said quickly. "I'll let you get back to packing."

"Right." Miranda agreed awkwardly. "Thanks."

The Quarian moved towards the door, and Miranda started down the stairs towards the bed.

"Miranda?"

The former Cerberus operative turned. Tali was standing in the doorway, looking even more out of sorts than she had before. "I know you have your sister and all of that. But… if you ever want to talk…"

Miranda smiled. "I'd like that."

Tali nodded to herself and then disappeared. Miranda turned back to the bed. She had left both uniforms lying out on the smoothed sheets, unsure as to which one she wanted to wear. It seemed like such a trivial thing to worry about, but she didn't really have any civilian clothing per se. She eventually settled on the white outfit, because she knew John preferred her in it.

After she had dressed, she descended to the crew deck. Tali wasn't the only person on board to whom she wanted to say her goodbyes. Chakwas was on her list as well, and perhaps Liara.

* * *

The elevator door opened, and Miranda nearly walked into Admiral Hackett. The two of them paused, caught in an awkward silence. She kept her face blank, but felt her mind spinning into spy mode. This man had given orders that bugs be planted on John's ship. This man had tried to discredit her lover.

For his part, Hackett appeared entirely occupied trying to keep his eyes above her neckline. Miranda was surprised that after so many years, the fact that most men couldn't keep their eyes off her breasts or bottom that still bothered her.

She allowed him a little slack, though. After all, this was the first time he had ever seen her in person.

"Miss Lawson." He managed. "The council is in recess."

"Again?" she asked sweetly, crossing her arms. "And how are the negotiations going?"

"Very well, thank you. With Captain Shepard's help, they've made some major breakthroughs."

"Well I guess it's a good thing you didn't drag him in for court martialing. Again." Miranda said smoothly.

"I don't particularly owe you or Shepard any ill will." Hackett assured her.

"Of course not." she replied coolly. "Why would we think so? You only sent an admiral with a listening device planted in her lapel."

Hackett cleared his throat, stepping carefully over the accusation. He began to dig in his left pocket. "Actually Admiral Shepard gave both of you a glowing review. It's a good thing I ran into you, actually. She asked me to pass this on." He handed her a package carefully wrapped in a brown paper bag.

Miranda frowned, handling it carefully. There was a note attached to the back, saying only two words. The message made her smile:

_-Of course_.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Music." Hackett shrugged. "Classical, I think. She spared me the details. Suffice to say I think she was very impressed with you."

"Yes. Thank you, Admiral." Miranda turned the package over in her hands and stepped past him, heading for the medical bay.

"Miss Lawson," Hackett called out.

She turned.

"We're headed for the Charon relay?" he inquired.

"Eden Prime." She explained shortly, resuming her journey. As she walked the short distance to the med bay, she cracked open the brown paper. An OSD slid into her palm, and her breath caught in her throat. It was classical music, alright. The Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra's 2136 recording of Antonio Vivaldi's best, including the Four Seasons. Hard copies of the recording were notoriously rare, and it was widely regarded as the greatest recording of Vivaldi in the history of classical music. How she had come across it in the rubble was beyond Miranda, but it must have taken some amount of work. And on such short notice, too. With it came another note, this one signed by Hannah Shepard:

_-I keep my promises. I'm going to do my best to make this work._

* * *

**I changed Feros to Eden Prime for the sake of symmetry (dear Steinman).**

**I may have made Joker's scene a little darker than you were expecting, but I honestly thought his situation through. Given what I understand about EDI and her connection to the ship, he'd need to stay with the Normandy to be near her. At least until she gets the hardware upgrades to transfer herself completely into the MECH body. **

**Given the limitations of Vrolik's syndrome, what transpired in the Mass Effect trilogy was probably the highlight of Joker's career. I honestly can't see him being any more important to humanity and the alliance, or being allowed to contribute any further than he did during the events of those games. It honestly is downhill.**

**Speaking as someone with a handicapped brother, I know how those disabilities can affect one's perceptions of future prospects, and I've always thought of his constant humor as a way to dodge and make the best of what is, at heart, a fairly depressing situation. **

**Also, it is already established in the game that EDI is a "Blabbermouth" (Liara's words). **

**About Miranda's scenes, I wanted to tie up the subplot between her and Tali, and make one last reference to the Hannah Shepard arc. I'm trying to close the loose ends here. **

**I know I keep saying this, but one more chappy, then we're done. I was going to add a short epilogue. "Five Years Later" kind of thing, but I'm wondering if I need to. I do have ideas for it, so tell me if you want to know where Miri and Shep would end up in this continuity.**


	31. The Beginning: Part 3

The beginning: Part 3

For what he was rapidly realizing would be the last time, John stepped through the door of the Normandy's XO office. Liara was at her monitor bank, as usual. Glyph was babbling about Batarian mining or some such matter. The little VI drone fell silent as Shepard entered the room. The captain shut the door behind him and crossed his arms.

"Shepard." The Asari said without looking up. "Good to see you. The Council appears to have sorted itself out. What did you tell them?"

"That the Reapers left because we agreed to all be straight with each other. No more Salarian style politics."

Liara chuckled, still keeping her eyes fixed on the screens. "…And the truth?"

John smiled, though there was little humor to be found. It was rare that he felt like the follower in a conversation, but at that moment, the alien woman was thinking several full steps ahead of him. He said, "They'll come back if the Geth and Quarians start fighting again. Or any synthetics, for that matter. War between synthetics and Organics can only have one outcome, so…"

Her brow creased slightly, and her fingers paused on the keyboard. "They feel they're protecting us…"

John wasn't sure whether or not it was a question or a statement. He said, "Stupid, I know. Miri and I have been over this."

"Who else have you told?"

"You."

She relaxed and resumed typing.

"I was actually hoping to talk to you about that." John said. "I know the Shadow Broker is supposed to be impartial and all, but the fate of the galaxy is at stake, and this council can't pick up everything."

"Given the information available, I'm sure he would wish keep a close eye on all synthetic-related activities. If a threat to peace emerges, it will likely come from the Organic side. Quarian extremists and such."

John sighed in relief. "If they appear…"

"He will put them down." Liara turned, finally looking him in the eyes, and he saw the same stone wall which had startled him on Illium over a year ago. "We can afford nothing less."

All at once the cold information broker vanished, leaving a young Asari, with a teasing smile upon her lips. "So, about you and 'Miri'…."

John smiled back. "Only two people in the galaxy get to call her that."

"You and her sister, of course. Quite a privilege."

"This is going to sound sappy, but it feels like it." John agreed.

Liara nodded, looking perfectly content. "Well I hope Eden Prime works out for you both. You deserve this, John. Both of you do."

"And what about you?"

"I have another nine hundred years." The Asari replied. "I have time enough to make sure this peace lasts. You two, on the other hand, should treasure every moment you have. Human lives are far too short, even with both of your… upgrades."

John nodded in agreement. "What are you going to do after things calm down?"

Liara shrugged. "I would like to get back in contact with my father at some point. But I suppose that will have to wait until I can take some time…"

"Give it a try." Shepard suggested. "Family is important."

"It is, but so is making sure that the apocalyptic army of bio-synthetic AI spaceships doesn't come back to finish what they started." She resumed typing. "You should go, Shepard. I'm sure there are plenty of other people you want to say goodbye to."

"Liara." John scolded, feeling a little hurt by the relatively cold exchange.

The Asari sighed, staring at her screen for a moment. She then stepped away and strode over to him, wrapping him in a heartfelt embrace which he returned wholeheartedly.

"Thank you for pulling me out of that Prothean ruin, Shepard." She whispered.

"You're welcome. I'm glad I did." John answered honestly, frowning slightly; the woman's voice sounded a little more fragile than he'd expected. Liara let him go and turned away, being careful not to let him see her face, but he heard her carefully muffled sob nonetheless.

* * *

John left the Xo's' office feeling depressed, despite the fact that he was an hour from starting his new life with Miranda. He should have been cheerful; Liara's cool confidence had reassured him that everything was going to work out. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled out of retirement by the Reapers' return. However the more he wandered through the halls of the ship, the more he missed it. Fear was beginning to take hold. He'd spent so much of the past few years taking life-threatening risks…

This ship was home. Sanctuary. The only place of respite he'd had. Now he was going to leave it to try and build another one.

Just so long as _she_ was there with him.

He glanced sideways as he passed the cafeteria and spotted Miranda's silhouette through the med-bay window. She was having an in-depth conversation with Chakwas, who was seated at her desk. A slight shock ran down his spine as he realized she was wearing the white cat suit. He immediately altered his path, crossing behind the mess where a few marines were taking a quiet coffee break, and entered the Medical bay.

As he stepped inside, John's hand absentmindedly swept across the room's environment controls, turning the windows opaque. The extra privacy allowed him to sweep up behind Miranda and gently wrap his arms around her. He didn't care that Chakwas saw. The old doctor already knew about their relationship, and seemed to heartily approve of the action, as intimate as it was.

"John!" Miranda scolded mildly, stepping away. "We're aboard the ship."

"I wouldn't worry too much, Miranda." Chakwas told her, "The crew already knows."

"They already…?" Miranda frowned. "When did they learn? Who told them?"

"No one. They are by no means stupid, Miss Lawson." Chakwas' mouth curled into a half-smile. "And you may be a professional spy, but you're dealing with Alliance Marines here. They live on rations, alcohol, and scuttlebutt, isn't that right, Shepard?"

John nodded, grinning.

"I was just speaking of your plans to Miranda."

"Eden Prime." Shepard flashed Miranda a smile, which she returned just as quickly.

Chakwas pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Very poetic in a way. The universe isn't usually that neat. It takes me back to our first mission. I don't suppose you remember Corporal Jenkins?"

"The lucky one?" John asked before he could stop himself.

Chakwas' face twisted in shock, and then she scowled at him. Even Miranda had raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry." John said quickly. "I just…."

"I confess I expected a little better from you, Commander." The doctor said harshly. "He was a shipmate and a comrade in arms, and-"

"And he died without knowing there was such a thing as Reapers." John responded. "He died quickly. Probably painlessly, and he died without seeing just how many nightmares this universe has. Considering what we just made it through, he got lucky. And so did I. If he was still with Kaidan and I, I probably wouldn't have brought Ash along. She wouldn't have activated the Beacon. I wouldn't have gotten caught in it, which means we never would have had the Intel to stop Sovereign..."

"More than that." Miranda added quietly, frowning to herself. "There are so many variables which worked out just right. For instance, imagine if Mordin had died on the suicide mission. Who would have cured the Genophage?" her frown deepened. "Have you ever heard of Hugh Everett's Many Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics?"

"Do you really need an answer that?" John shot back playfully. "I just blow stuff up, remember?"

She smiled. "He envisioned reality as a series of alternate histories and an ever-expanding, infinite set of futures. In layman's terms, his theory states that every time a choice is made, reality splits into another version of itself. One in which you made one choice, and one in which you made the other. That's not quite right, but close enough…"

"In how many universes did I make the wrong choices?" John pondered, the weight of what she was saying hitting him.

"How many times did you move left instead of right, or stay up a second too long for that last headshot…" Miranda said. "In how many universes did you miss the Conduit's window after Saren went through? In how many did Liara fail to recover your body?"

"In how many did we lose?" he asked. She nodded. John rubbed his forehead, considering all the possibilities. "God, Miri… there are so many places where this could have all gone totally wrong…"

"You mean it didn't in this one?" she asked incredulously. "Did you know that for every universe in which the Reapers exist, there's at least one where they don't?"

"Not this one, though."

"No." she agreed. "…Not this one."

They died away into silence. Chakwas, who had been watching them both with growing incredulity, scoffed. "Honestly! You have to be two of the most depressing people I have ever come across!"

"Hell, Doc." John crossed his arms and grinned at her. "There's at least one universe out there where you're agreeing with us."

Chakwas stared at him, her mouth hanging open. It snapped shut and she glared at him, scolding lightly. "Out of my medbay. Out. Both of you. Go find someone else to bother! I ought to find some Anti-depressants."

"I saw some in the cupboard." John teased, following Miranda back through the med-bay door. Chawas was following close behind, shoeing them onwards. As they reached the door, he said, "Look right next to the bottle of brandy!"

"_Out!_" The door slid shut, leaving both John and Miranda grinning mischievously at one another.

"Weren't you going to say goodbye to her?" Miranda asked, taking a step closer.

Shepard glanced at the door, then back at his lover, drinking in the stark white curves of her outfit. "No," He said. He reached out and pulled Miranda closer, his hands around the small of her back. Her own hands crept up his chest and she leaned in, her breath gently caressing his face. "The entire ship's company will probably be back anyway for the housewarming party."

"Housewarming party?" Said a worried voice. Female, with a British accent.

John and Miranda both froze, moments away from a kiss. Miranda's eyes were wide. She had gone completely pale and rigid with shock. She let out little whimper of horror and leaned forward until her face was hidden, buried in the nape of John's neck. He turned his head to regard Samantha Traynor, and the legion of curious crew members who had flooded the galley. All eyes were on him. Well that wasn't entirely accurate. Most of the male eyes were on Miranda. It occurred to him that the watch was changing, which meant that nearly everyone, both on and off duty, had gathered in the cafeteria during the fifteen minute break.

Helluva time for a misstep. Miranda was probably having a meltdown.

"What house?" Traynor asked.

Joker's voice echoed over the intercom. "_Charon Relay is in range. Initiating transmission sequence. We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination._"

"Miranda. Could you get the duffel bags please?" John prompted, giving the former operative the gentlest of shakes. He knew she'd be looking for any excuse to be out of there. She took a deep breath and collected herself. He was impressed; she showed no signs of the complete panic attack he knew was overtaking her. She turned and departed as quickly as she possibly could, not meeting anyone's eyes along the way.

"What house?" Traynor asked again. "Captain, what's going on?"

"_Relay is hot. Acquiring approach vector._"

"I'll tell you what's going on." John said as the crowd gathered in a slight semi-circle. "We're making another trip. The SSV Normandy SR-2 is going to land on Eden Prime. I'm going to step out of the airlock onto the docks, and then it is going to take off again."

"_All stations secure for transit._"

"You're leaving us?" the young Specialist asked, her disbelief plain to see. It was echoed in the faces of those around her.

"_Board is green, Approach run has begun. Hitting the relay in three… two… one…_"

John braced himself, getting ready for the inevitable jerk as the relay grasped the ship and tossed it several thousand light-years over several seconds. A moment later, the familiar gut-wrenching speed and distortion washed over the galley, tossing most unprepared crew members to the deck. He calmly reached down and pulled Traynor back to her feet.

"I'm leaving, Traynor. I have an opportunity, and I'm taking it."

"But… what happened to 'Eye of the storm'?" she demanded "What happened to Dekuuna and Palaven? Don't we still have a job to do?"

John looked around at the rest of the crew. He said, "I don't know. I wish I could tell you that I knew what was going to happen next, but I don't know. I have no speech, either. All I know is that I've been carrying this torch for far too long. I'm leaving." He felt a tremendous amount of relief, telling them outright. The course was set, and whether they respected his decision or not, there was nothing they could do to change it. He didn't actually care what they thought of it either because very soon he was going to be free of it all. There would be nothing but Miranda, himself, and their future together.

And that was better than any anything the Normandy had to offer… wasn't it?

"_Now approaching Eden Prime. You'd better get up here, Commander._"

His Omni-tool beeped to notify him of a new message. It was from the administrative head of Eden Prime, welcoming him to the colony, and hoping he would find everything to his satisfaction. As if he were royalty. As if he were a celebrity, gracing them with his presence. Jesus, he was trying to escape all of that! That was the point!

Shepard started towards the elevator. Traynor quickly fell into step beside him.

"Aren't you even going to say goodbye?" she asked, looking hurt.

"I don't want any fanfair, Traynor."

She managed to slip into the elevator beside him. "You should at least say goodbye to the crew."

The doors slid shut, and their transport began to rise.

"Why?" he asked sourly. "Tali's taking over. I'm sure you'll all manage without me. You _should _all be able to manage without me. In theory."

To his amazement, she hit the emergency stop button , trapping both of them between floors. He found himself mildly impressed by her defiance. She said, "You should say goodbye because we were all alliance soldiers fighting through this war, right beside you!"

John shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no. This war is four years old, and the Alliance just planted you here for the finale. _Joker_ was here from the start. Same with Tali and Chakwas and Garrus… except that he isn't anymore, is he?" he relented, taking a moment to collect himself.

The idealistic young woman looked as though she were about to cry. She said, "But what about everything you said about being an Alliance soldier, and loyalty and all that…?"

"Was what you needed to hear." John explained shortly. "Do you honestly think after everything I went through that I feel I owe the Alliance a single thing? You're a damned good Com officer, Traynor. Keep your head down, follow orders, work hard and you'll find you've become a very good courier for some young Rear- Admiral with a father who donates to the right politician. It's a good career path, being a courier. Rewarding as hell." He laughed sardonically. "You need to smarten up, Specialist. You've signed up to be a lapdog."

She stared.

"I need to get out of here, Traynor." He explained heavily. "I'm losing… I'm losing me. I've had enough of Commander Shepard. I want to be John Shepard and I want to do it in a quiet little home somewhere where there's no shooting or reapers or fucking politics..." He smiled and released the emergency stop, allowing the elevator to rise again. As the doors slid open, he said, "You'll understand that someday. I know you will. And when that day comes I hope you have someone like Miranda around. Someone you can share it with."

"Maybe." The young woman said defiantly. "But we deserve a goodbye at least."

They glared at each other.

"_Approaching Eden Prime, brace for atmospheric entry._"

"Fine." John replied. He marched across the short distance to the galaxy map, and tapped the COM interface, allowing him to address the entire ship. He shared one last look with the stubborn Com Specialist.

"Crew." He announced, "This is…" Commander? Captain? Spectre? "This is _John_ Shepard. When we get to Eden Prime, I'm jumping ship. I wish the best of luck to all of you, and I hope the reapers don't come back to kill us all. Tali's taking command of this ship. Just do your jobs as you always have and everything will turn out fine." He stepped away from the comm channel, ignoring the stunned looks from the few crew members in the CIC. "Good enough?"

"Alliance ideals at work, hmm?" Traynor asked sardonically, clearly disgusted by what she perceived as his sudden change in character.

John snorted and took a step closer, leaning in to share a secret. Despite herself, she responded in kind.

He said, "Specialist Traynor, _Alliance_ ideals meant waiting until women and children were frying to death and being torn apart on the streets of Vancouver before any action was taken to stop the Reapers. I have given blood and bone and faith and friends and my own life to this preventable clusterfuck of a war. I have paid my pound of flesh. And I'm out of it. Do not lecture me."

With that, he turned and stomped away towards the airlock.

* * *

The ship jerked one last time as the docking clamps gripped it in place. To his surprise, John had found the airlock occupied by Wrex, Tali, and Liara, as well as Miranda. And those were it. The last surviving members of the Original Normandy's away team. All leaders in their fields. Trailblazers as none in their species had been before. John felt humbled; they'd grown, even as he'd shrunk and withered away from the galaxy. He knew that the very best of the legacy he'd left the galaxy, he'd left through them. He was nothing more than a vessel. A conduit. A focal point around which the truly extraordinary had gathered and allied towards a common goal.

They would outlive it all.

Light flooded in as the airlock opened, and fresh colonial air washed through the small space, carrying with it the scent of fresh flowers, farmer's fields and the white noise of the city.

"Get off this ship already." Wrex grunted. Tali, and Liara both nodded encouragingly.

Miranda had already left, and was standing there, bathed in sunlight, strands of her long black hair fluttering in the gentle wind. She was wearing the white uniform again, silhouetted against the spotless blue sky of Eden Prime. Her black duffel bag was on the platform beside her, along with his. Perhaps it was a melodramatic thought, but standing in the stuffy shadow-filled cave of the Normandy's airlock, he felt as if he were viewing a brief glimpse of heaven. A beautiful woman standing against the backdrop of a perfect world, ready to commit herself to him, and he to her. Ready to share whatever else life had to offer. The perfect life. The unattainable.

And all he had to do to reach it was take three steps forward.

"It's time to go, John." she said gently.

Yet his legs wouldn't carry him. The weight of the galaxy and his experiences in the past three years were holding his feet down. He felt an overwhelming fear of that moment when he would step off the deck. He was afraid he would never see the ship again. Never feel the thrumming vibrations of the drive core. The constant white noise of the air cleansers, or laughter as he passed by the galley. The engineers bickering. The pranks and stunts. The vid nights and shore leave. Shipboard life… All those little moments that brought a crew together and hardened them, strengthening those bonds until those people were not just peers and coworkers, but brothers and sisters. HE was scared of missing the excitement. The conflicts. This ship would carry on without him. The SSV Normandy SR-2 would keep exploring. Keep adventuring. There would always be some new challenge around the corner. It would be on the frontlines of history for decades to come.

Could he really give that up?

He looked back at Miranda. The woman was wearing a pained expression which mirrored his own. He could see in her eyes a glimmer of empathy and he knew she understood.

Could he really give that up?

For _her_, yes.

He took a deep breath and stepped off the ship. On the far end of the docking platform, a crowd of journalists had gathered. Cameras zoomed and floated, flickering by as they recorded the moment. Yet they kept their distance, held by a line of docking security personnel. Shepard had requested it. He didn't want an obnoxious arrival. He wanted it to be quiet, like the rest of his new life.

Behind him, he heard the pneumatics of the airlock door as it began to slid shut, and for a moment –just a fraction of a second- the urge to turn around and leap back aboard overtook him. But it vanished as quickly as it came, and Miranda was in front of him, her warm, soft hands caressing his cheeks even as he heard the Normandy lifting off behind him. The thrusters produced a wind storm which billowed around the two lovers, and Shepard felt his heart break. Despite everything, he began to sob, breathing harshly as the three and a half years which had redefined him, and his universe, replayed themselves in his inner eye. It was all over, and he wanted to be in the thick of it and as far from it as possible all at the same time. The emotional turmoil caught him and swept him away…

…Until Miranda brought him back, catching him in her calming azure gaze.

"Look at me, John." she ordered softly, brushing his tears away as the SSV Normandy rose into the air and vanished into the afternoon sky. "Look at me. Don't look back, John. Never look back."

He obeyed, keeping his gaze fixed on hers, clinging to the warmth of her touch, and the pleasant scent of her flowery perfume. He let her presence overwhelm him, keeping him strong until at last, the noise and wind had died away, leaving only them, standing on the platform, holding each other as tightly as they ever had.

* * *

***Whew* Finished. Holy shit this was a long one. The longest I've ever written, and possibly the best. I'm amazed it got this far.**

**One of the things that bothered me about ME3 was the fact that I never got to be a cynical ass to Samantha Traynor. God that young woman was do damned blind I wanted to smack her sometimes. She was adorable, but blind. That last scene with her may not have jived with the mood of the rest of these last chapters, but those cynical scars are the sort anyone would carry for the rest of their lives, and I can't see Shepard just suddenly forgetting it. I can see him putting it aside, though, and recognizing the good things that happened during the war.**

**Anyway it doesn't matter because this story is done (aside from an epilogue). Thank you for all the support you've shown. Thanks to my awesome partner in crime, Krow Blood, for keeping my nose at the grindstone. This is the first story to top 500 reviews, and this may make me sound narcissistic, but that is HUUGE for me.**

**Thank you to Bioware for three fantastic games. This trilogy was a trailblazer for our favorite medium, and I personally consider it to be the greatest defense of the theory that games can be an artform surpassing any other. I hope you continue to make many more fantastic games, and I will play them all if I can. Especially any more Mass Effect.**

**And finally, a few fics for you to read, if you're jonesin' for more Shep/Miri. I know I always am. For some reason the fandom seems flooded with FemShep/Miri, and Jack/Miri. NOthing wrong with either per se, but M!Shep/Miri is my OTP.**

…

**Coilerfan – 'The Prodigal'. Just updated a little while ago. It's the best version of Miranda's origin story I've ever read. And as a BONUS, it's turned into a novelization of ME2. Go give this author some support!**

**ChaserGrey – 'Square One', and its sequel, 'One Squared' Centered around Miranda's efforts to resurrect Shepard AGAIN after the ending of ME3. Extremely heartwarming, and the entire squad, from Grunt to Garrus to Tali to Ash, has absolutely top-notch characterization.**

**Random Equinox – Basically everything. He's done a brilliant job of novelizing both Mass Effect 1 and Mass Effect 2. Go beg him to do ME3 **

**FYI, there will be an epilogue, but it's only cannon if you want it to be. What you just read was the *end* of the story proper.**


	32. The Epilogue

**As promised here's the "epilogue". As I said, the story is done. But this is honestly where I see the rest of Shepard's life. If you want a different ending,… it's just as cannon as this one. PM me, I might write several. I dunno. I almost feel like doing something with Garrus in an alternate post-game fic, but I don't want to retread old ground (which it would inevitably do). Though Skyrim beckons too. Anyway I Hope you enjoy. **

**Also, a quick message from Krow Blood, my nearly silent partner in crime. He rightfully takes half the credit for all that gets published on this profile.**

"_**Happy newyears faithful readers! This year begins with the end of The Fourth Ooption, and during it we will, hopefully, end Mutatis Mutandis. I cannot take credit for TFO, since most of our chats about it ended up devolving mostly into discussions about galactic Socio-political madness. In any case, what I can take the credit for is mostly prodding this slow sod into actually writing, and threatening to buy a Cattle prod and a plane ticket to force him to write if necessary."**_

**And without further ado, the end of this particular continuity. Thanks for sticking with it this time. Back to Fallout.**

* * *

My Name is Garrus Shepard. Over the course of my life, that has raised many eyebrows. Few humans have a Turian first name, but I'm proud of mine. I know who Garrus Vakarian is, as does the entire galaxy; the most celebrated Turian war hero in the history of their race. But despite all that my brother David still had a far easier time during our school years. My biotic abilities also made me stand out.

I'm an historian by trade, specializing in the Reaper cycles. My Brother David went straight into the Alliance military, against my father's wishes, I might add. But the Reapers always frightened and fascinated me. How could they not, having read all of my father's books? I suppose in some small way, it's paying homage to his accomplishments. He saved the galaxy, after all, and as my mother was very fond of telling me, he did it for David and I. Though I didn't live through the terror and hopelessness of the Reaper war, in some small way my research helps to understand his accomplishments, and honor his memory. The information I am about to impart is taken both from his journals –may he forgive me for it- and my mother's testament.

As I grew older, I always regretted that his account ends abruptly as it does. He wakes up in a London hospital, reunites with my mother –sharing that kiss that so well defined every sentient being's relief- and that, as they say, is that. The missing section is, of course, his life after the war ended. I don't think he would have allowed me to alter his work, or add to it in any way. However his publisher has kindly allowed me make this posthumous addendum to the latest edition.

I recall one of my earliest memories of my father. It has stuck with me my entire life, though the true significance did not occur to me until much later. He caught my brother and I playing with a model destroyer class Reaper. The toy was fully pose-able. A small red button on the back, if pressed, would emit their signature blaring noise, and the red eye would light up. The toys sold very well across all species, particularly amongst Krogan children, who have a well-documented habit of stomping on them and posting the relevant videos on the extranet.

My classmates were playing with them, and when one of them gave it to me as a birthday gift, I thought nothing of it. Yet I remember with surprising clarity the moment that my father found out. David was handling the Reaper itself. My mother had taught me some basic control over my Biotics, and I was using it to levitate the small model Normandy across our bed, towards the Reaper. There was an argument outside our door as my mother tried to stop him. I believe she was trying to break the news gently, as it were, lest it catch him by surprise.

His face was pale, with a look of such disgust and fury the likes of which I have rarely seen in my lifetime. I cannot remember exactly what he said to us, but I certainly remember his anger, and the way he was so very offended by our simple plastic bobbles.

It took me a very long time to understand and eventually accept that his anger was not at either David, nor myself, but instead at the fact that the Reapers- which had been such galactic bogeymen, such a defining turning point in the history of our civilization- had been reduced to trinkets sold on shelves by entrepreneurs with no sense of respect, nor perspective. In his mind, they had become a joke To us they were fantastical nightmarish monsters. A modern version of the folktale Dragons of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and Garrus Vakarian, John Shepard and the Normandy were the equivalent knights in shining armour. Such were the perceptions we had as young boys. It was only as I began to travel the galaxy, researching the Reaper cycles that I understood exactly what those horrific machines are- and they are still out there, somewhere. To think otherwise would be foolish, but I digress. This addendum is about my father, and all I can recall of his time after the Reaper war.

The War was a weight on his shoulders for the rest of his life, and one –by my mother's apparently frustrated admission - he insisted on bearing alone whenever possible. Everyone knows of my mother, of course. Miranda Lawson. Her beauty was as legendary as her hatred of the paparazzi trying to capture it on camera. That hatred was a trait both of my parents shared. As is well known, they stepped off of the SSV Normandy SR-2 and settled on Eden Prime, which they called home for the rest of his life. They traveled quite frequently, to visit old friends, I suppose. My father did his best to avoid honors and celebratory medal ceremonies and such. For himself, at least. He was perfectly willing to make great speeches on the sacrifices of his comrades and the bravery and unity of the Galaxy in the face of such a threat.

It is interesting to note that he showed borderline contempt for a lot of the non-combat personnel who served during the Reaper war, and was particularly hostile to those of Asari and Salarian heritage. I believe that on some level, he felt they hadn't given enough to be treated with the same respect as Human, Turian, Batarian, and Krogan combat veterans. It frustrated him endlessly that the public did not seem to recognize, or care about the differences in the different races' contributions to the war effort. Of even more interest is that despite the fact they contributed the least, he held a certain affection toward those species which formed the Collective of Minor races.

But no matter what he said, and where they went, my family always came back to Eden Prime. It was my mother, not my father, who had had the easier time settling into their new lives. She told me of the nightmares she had eventually forced him to impart to her. Those nightmares didn't help him, of course. The same dream had clung to him for a decade, leaving him with a fearful heartache at least once a week. He abhorred waking my mother up with his screams and frantic movement, and to her dismay he frequently checked into a hotel if he felt he were robbing her of too much sleep.

The dream itself was apparently the same one. At least once every few nights, and the most horrible thing about it was the overwhelming sense of helplessness and dread it imparted to him. It always started on earth, in the small apartment the Alliance had kept him locked up in after the Bahak relay incident. Things would play out fairly close to the way they had in reality. He would be summoned to the council chambers. Sometimes his entire crew including Thane Krios, Mordin Solus, and Garrus Vakarian would be there to greet him. Sometimes it was Ashley Williams. Sometimes it was my mother. No matter whom, it would always end the same way. Halfway through the council hearing, the Reapers' horrible horns would blare and the machines would descend from the heavens and tear his tiny world to shreds. The horrific part was that in the dream, he always knew they were coming. No matter who he warned, no matter how much he shouted, no matter what he tried, they would still land, they would still slaughter, and they would still destroy. And every single time, it would end with him escaping aboard the ghostly Normand. Fatalistic depression would engulf him as he was forced again and again to face the coming storm. The complexity of the Genophage cure, the stupidity of the battle for Rannoch, the horror of Sanctuary…the final battle in London where the Reapers had even managed to steal hope. The battle where Garrus Vakarian, my namesake, died. All the death, suffering, the hopeless odds and the frantic unlikely fight for survival were _always_ yet to come. He could never escape it. Never completely move past it. His own mind wouldn't let him. Those memories were with him daily, distracting him and preventing him from ever fully being with his family, where he belonged. By his own private admission, there were days when he wished more than anything else that he could cut into his own skull and gouge out the memories. It was incredible, the amount of stress the reaper war was still capable of inflicting upon him, and by extension all of us, so many years after its conclusion.

He'd found the only real trick to avoiding the dream was spending three quarters of an hour listening to classical music before he crawled into bed. One night several months after they'd set themselves up in their apartment, my mother had insisted that he sit with her through all four of Vivaldi's seasons. She had purchased a top-grade sound system, and wanted my grandmother's first gift to be the trial run.

My mother still treasures that copy, even to this day. Hannah was the first real motherly figure my own mother had known, and the two of them shared a very close relationship. Nearly as close as Auntie Ori's. Hannah Shepard's death was very hard on my mother, but I digress.

That night, after listening to Vivaldi, was the soundest sleep Father had experienced since learning of the Reapers, and afterwards he hunted down every piece of classical music he could possibly find, starting with the rest of Vivaldi's work, Then moving on to Handel and Bach. He left the Baroque period shortly thereafter and moved on to Beethoven, Shubert, Strauss, and Chopin. Mother had been delighted with the new direction his tastes had turned, and had happily sent him all of her favorites with several comprehensive, cross-referenced lists, her 'secondary' composers, and recommended playlists.

My Mother is a meticulously organized person. Something my brother and I frequently rebelled against in our teenage years. Though I have apologized to her many times over the past forty years, one of my greatest childhood regrets is comparing her overbearing love of both us to the controlling lunacy her own father had exacted upon her. That moment was the closest my father ever came to striking me. He was not an abusive man, by any means, and was a kind and loving human being most of the time, but there were a few things he would never ever tolerate as long as he lived, one of them being the slightest word said against my mother. He would go to great extremes to protect her, to the point of firing sniper rounds at particularly aggressive Paparazzi. He used his unrevoked Spectre status to sometimes violently override and shut down any attempts at probing into her background. It was through this protection and vehement defense that she largely escaped the persecution which so many other Cerberus Operatives suffered. But I fear I am getting off toping yet again.

My father happily swallowed every moment of every Classical piece my mother recommended to him, always downplaying the real reason for his interest though he suspected that deep down she already knew and was trying to help. Her own accounts have confirmed this to be true.

If anything in the world revealed his inability to let go, it was his bookshelf. He kept it in the living room, storing its contents behind a hardened plastic door after my brother and I had arrived. Garrus Vakarian's visor was the centerpiece, mounted on a custom-made stand. It was given to me as a gift on my graduation from the Thessia Historical College. My father knew I would take good care of it, and I have. However while it was in his care, he surrounded it with various bits of memorabilia he had managed to keep; his N7 tags, the helmet from his N7 armour, and a few other odds and ends. The books themselves had started as a joke. Every time his birthday rolled around, my mother -knowing how much he hated all the propaganda which had sprung up in the wake of the War- purchased a few 'informative' volumes about the Reaper war. The war was frequently analyzed by armchair experts who had sat it out from the safety of Admiral Hackett's fleet. Most of them had never even seen a husk in person, never stared up into the towering red eye of a destroyer, yet somehow they _all _knew beyond any shadow of a doubt exactly what had won the war.

The popularity of these volumes had irritated my father to the point where he'd fought back, with a little help, penning his own book. It was titled _Shortfall: How the Alliance failed us all, _and contained his own account of the Reaper war, starting from that fateful day in Vancouver when Admiral Anderson had come to call. He had enlisted the help of a reporter named Khalisah al-Jilani, and the two of them had bonded over their mutual distaste for politicians and bureaucracy. I met Al-Jilani far later as part of my research. We had coffee and an excellent discussion about the Quarian/Geth commune, and it's feud with the Krogan expansionists. While helping him write that book, she had gained a deeply held respect for my father. The book itself was a bestseller. It had been translated into nearly every language in existence, and left him with a large enough fortune to resurrect himself, should the issue ever have arisen again. A few intelligent investments later had found them owning an enormous condominium in the center of Eden Prime's capital. Less than two minutes from the hospital where my Mother had found work using a few of Father's old contacts as references.

Then there were the vids. My father mercilessly chased down and sued any studio trying to use his likeness and story. As a result, while plenty of vids exist about the Reaper war, none of them cover the Normandy's involvement. As far as I know, being excluded did not particularly bother any of his old crew. Not Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy, nor Jeff Moreau, Nor James Vega. I don't believe anyone else's opinions mattered to my father. Aside from my Mother's, obviously. I have often wondered what would have happened if she had told him to sell the rights. I suspect he would have.

A lot of very influential businessmen –not to mention fans- had been upset by the decision, but my Father had stood his ground. One of his deepest fears was the thought of consumerism draining the significance of the war by turning it into a 'pop-culture phenomenon' as demonstrated by the reaper toys. He was not going to stand for the memories of those who had died –Garrus Vakarian in particular- being slighted in such a manner.

After learning of his opinions, the Media had never truly left him alone. The Paparazzi had been following him from the start, though he'd sent them a message with a few well-placed shots from his old sniper rifle. He had hurt a few, sending more than one of them into the ER- straight to Doctor Miranda Lawson's more than capable hands. Immoral? Probably. Illegal? Not so much. The council had never actually revoked his Spectre status, trusting him instead to use his discretion. But after a short time, the reporters and investigative journalists had learned that respectful silence and modest requests for 'a few moments of your time' would at least allow one to escape without a bloody nose.

While my mother had prospered, putting her varied skill sets to use as one of the hospital's most accomplished surgeons, the Reaper war had left John Shepard in a rather difficult position. His main source of income was the book, but he'd started a side business as a security consultant, assisting forces trying to retake ground from the Reaper remnants. He knew his contributions and tactical advice, though sometimes no more than a few pages of text in an extranet message, had saved many lives.

Boredom had eventually lead him back to the keyboard and he'd penned and researched two more books. One of them, _Cerberus_, was a comprehensive history of the titular organization, with full commentary from all the surviving members he could find including my mother. As a bonus, John had thrown in his own experiences working with Cerberus to take down the Collectors, finally offering the many curious readers an explanation for his public sympathy for the organization. This time, he had included passages and comments from Tali, Joker, and Karin Chakwas, who unfortunately did not live to see it published. Without fail, he visited her grave once a year, up to his own death, and drank a glass of Serrice Ice brandy.

His third book, _Archangel_, had been written alongside Diana Allers. It covered Garrus Vakarian, their brotherly relationship, and Shepard's first full account of his pursuit of Saren along with abridged accounts of the Collector mission and the Reaper war. Both books, along with the trilogy, sold as a boxed set –Archangel, Cerberus, and Shortfall- had earned my parents a second fortune, all of which had been donated to those Veterans whose lives had been shattered by the Reaper war.

All in all, they had done rather well. They had more money than they would ever need, and plenty of time, though the latter changed after their first child, my brother David. I came shortly after. Despite his personal struggle with those memories, my Father and mother raised us rather well. Generally, my mother was the stricter of the two, the tradeoff for the extra freedom my father allowed was that whenever he required our attention or cooperation, he got it.

I remember when I brought home my first girlfriend- a young Asari, barely forty-six years old. I was in my early twenties at the time. My father treated her with outright hostility, and it drove a deep wedge between us for a very long time. One I have since come to regret. He was always very distrustful of Asari, and Salarians as well. Even up to the day he died.

He never set foot on the citadel again, though it had been cleaned and repaired within ten years of the battle for earth. I visited it when I was twenty-four, and remember being entranced by the architecture, the smoothness of the station and the idealism of the multi-racial inhabitants. My father was disgusted by my infatuation with it. I made the mistake of commenting on the freedom and joy of living at the heart of galactic civilization. He advised that if I ever wanted to experience the true freedom of living on a space station, I should visit Omega.

So I did, and have never been able to stand the thought of living on a space station since.

The Citadel council changed over the years. The original members as he apparently chose, were replaced one by one as each race's internal political structures recovered. Urdnot Wrex is still the head council member, I believe, as is councilor Tevos. But other have changed. My father was offered the position of Humanity's representative many times of the course of his life, and ever y time he rejected it with more venom than the last.

John Shepard died on October 23, 2237, age 83. He was buried in the Turian Blackwatch Cemetery on Palaven, in the same section as Garrus Vakarian. My mother had requested the action, and the Turian government had obliged. His resting place has become a galactic mecca for Quarians, Turians, Krogan, and Geth across the galaxy. I have even observed large amounts of Asari and Salarians in attendance on the few occasions I have been invited there to speak on Reclamation Day, the anniversary of the end of the Reaper war.

Many news outlets were not kind to him after his death. His treatment of the Media certainly did not help, and I fear that the petty and bitter nature of his opinions and actions after the war in many ways overshadowed his accomplishments before and during. It was a weight on his shoulders and a stress on our family. It was without a doubt, the most defining event in his life. One that included two children and a partnership with a devoted and beautiful woman. Yet for all he gained I can't help but feel that the Reaper War, as it did to all touched by it, and by war and violence in general, took away as much as it gave, if not more.

I can't help but feel that in some way, he was robbed.

We all were.


End file.
